Halo of Flies
by ME-Iron-Maiden
Summary: A former Marine turned private investigator and amateur archaeologist from the 21st century gets launched into the future. Rated M for language, violence, adult situations, etc. NOTE: NOT an SI fic. Just because it's 1st person doesn't mean it's an SI.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: ALL RIGHTS TO MASS EFFECT ARE OWNED BY BIOWARE

A/N: All right. First fic, so please be patient. (ETA: with the help of a couple friends, I've gone over the story and did some minor editing: adding descriptions/details and tweaking some of my language)

* * *

><p>"The monster's loose and now you know the truth," I sing under my breath as I walk through a tunnel of ancient stone an archaeologist friend of mine discovered in the Sierra Nevada mountains. Shining my LED flashlight on the walls, I marvel at the strange glyphs that have been carved into the smooth surface.<em> These are unlike any we've ever seen. No wonder Hank is so excited.<em> I think, tracing their odd shape with my fingertips.

"C'mon, Ian. Let's pick it up," one of the archaeologists says in his irritating, nasally voice, wearing the obligatory "scientist in the field" outfit; khaki shorts and shirt, knee-high socks, and boots that are more form than function. "I know you're an amateur, but you could at least show a modicum of alacrity," he continues, highlighting the fact that archaeology is more of a hobby than profession for me for the umpteenth time.

"Ever heard the saying 'Haste makes waste'?" I ask nonchalantly, getting irritated at this pretentious snob. _Just because my daddy didn't pay for me to go to Yale…_ I continue to myself, adjusting the shoulder rig holding an H&K P30 pistol and a couple spare magazines that I'm wearing over my midnight blue t-shirt.

"I didn't know they used big words like that in the Marines. Then again, you could just be parroting someone and have no idea what the big words mean," the jackass answers. _Calm down, Ian,_ I think, getting tired of his shit already although I've only been on site for a week. _He's not worth it._

"Reginald, Ian's here as a favor for me," Hank says from his place at the back of our little line. His outfit is functional like mine: durable cargo pants, well-worn boots, a pack to carry minor equipment in, et cetera. "You, on the other hand, are here because I needed someone to schlep my gear and because your professor decided you could use a little seasoning. Believe me, if I had any idea that we'd be making a discovery like this, I'd have left you behind," he finishes, putting the rich kid in his place.

Moving forward at a slow, but steady pace, I pay no attention to Reginald's mumblings as I look over the walls and floor. _As much bullshit is spewed about booby traps in fiction, ancient ruins are still hazardous._ Then I hear something that gets my attention: the distinctive sound of a zippo being opened. _Motherfucker…_ Whirling around, I snatch the lighter out of his hand before he can strike the flint. "Just what the unholy fuck do you think you're doing?" I ask in a tone I haven't used since I left the Corps. And even then I only used it for a special brand of fuck-up.

"I wanted a smoke," Reginald whined.

"You wanted a smoke? How about I smoke you in the motherfucking throat? You had better un-fuck yourself right now before I rip your head off and skull-fuck you for almost getting us killed! Do you have any motherfucking clue as to what gasses are in the air of this tunnel?" At his stunned silence, I get in his face. "Did any part of that last question sound rhetorical, you jackass?"

"There's no gas here. I don't smell anything," he muttered.

"Well aren't you the motherfucking genius. Mummy and daddy paid for you to go to Yale and now you're the reincarnation of Indiana motherfucking Jones. Apparently you missed the day where the chemistry professors explained that many flammable gasses are FUCKING ODORLESS! The ONLY reason gas 'smells' when you're working with propane or other commercial gasses is because the companies add sulfur to give said gasses a rotten egg smell to let you know if there's a leak! I swear to everything holy and blasphemed: if you were in my platoon, I've have turtle-fucked you and busted you down so low you'd be lucky to be cleaning the fucking head with your god-damned tongue!"

"Easy, Ian. He's got the point," Hank says. Never having seen this side of me before, it's pretty obvious from his expression that he feels that I'm about to get violent. Slapping the lighter back into Reginald's hand, I go back to leading the way, noting that the acoustics of the tunnel are shifting as we go further along. After a few more minutes of careful walking, we enter a massive chamber, easily the size of a small city with some kind of pyramid in the center.

"My God…" Hank says in wonder. "Just look at the size of this place." "It's incredible," Reginald says, his voice similarly filled with awe.

"Our lights don't even reflect off the other side." "Look at the structure in the middle. It looks like some kind of pyramid or temple," I comment, trying to fathom how anyone could build something like this. "And that spire, it looks like some kind of ring with two prongs pointing towards the ceiling."

"Reminds me of the assassin's blade from Halo," Reginald replies. For once, I agree with him.

"This truly amazing," Hank states as we all carefully pick our way down a half-crumbled stairway towards the pyramid-like structure. As we get closer to the floor of the chamber, I realize that this place is truly massive.

"How the hell did anyone build anything like this?" I ask. "Even with current technology, there's no way we could carve out a cavern large enough to hold what looks to be a twenty story pyramid, not counting those odd spires on top."

"Of course the pyramid's artificial," Reginald said, clearly missing my point.

"I'm talking about this cavern, chamber, whatever the hell you want to call it," I explain, keeping my cool despite being irritated. "There aren't any stalactites or stalagmites, for one. Two, the stairs we climbed down, while worn, are in remarkable condition. Third, the stones under our feet is too smooth and uniform to be anything but worked artificially. Whoever did this was advanced as hell. Far more than we are."

"What are you saying? That aliens built this?" he counters, his voice condescending and smug.

"What I'm saying is that we may have just discovered evidence of a civilization that isn't mentioned anywhere in historical records, be they myth, legend, or otherwise," I answer heatedly, starting to lose my temper with this dimwit. "And I'm not discounting some kind of extraterrestrial influence, despite how crazy it sounds."

"I agree with you, Ian," Hank says. "This is unlike any kind of human construction ever recorded. Even the ancient myths of Olympus or Atlantis don't offer descriptions even close to what we're seeing here." Looking around, he makes a decision. "Let's take a couple samples and get back to camp. I'd like to run some tests and see if we can determine how old this place is." Breaking out the small picks and plastic specimen jars, we take several samples and return to the camp.

While Hank and Reginald work on putting the samples through thermoluminescence dating, I head into my tent and take my rifle, an HK91, out of its case and inspect it. _It's a far cry from the M4 I was issued in the Corps, but it's a fine rifle. Might not have much for aesthetics, but it's a godless Teutonic killing machine that makes the AK look overcomplicated._ Field stripping the gun, I check to make sure everything is still in order: the rollers for the bolt are in working order, the springs are fine, the barrel is in good condition, the scope isn't damaged, and so on. After a quick function check, I load the rifle, put it on safe, and take my pistol out of my shoulder rig and do the same general inspection and function check.

Satisfied with my weapons inspections, I decide to unwind a bit, getting out my guitar, an Ibanez Xiphos with an orange chameleon finish, and playing a few random heavy metal licks here and there. _If only I had my amp with me,_ I muse silently. As I play, I overhear Hank and Reginald working at the makeshift lab we have set up.

"This can't be right." Reginald says.

"What is it this time?" Hank answers, clearly getting irritated over something.

"According to the equipment, these samples are fifty thousand years old." "What? You're reading that wrong," Hank answers.

Curious, I put my guitar back in its case and step outside, pistol at home in its holster and the rifle slung over my shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Apparently my gear needs to be calibrated. It's saying that the samples we took from the pyramid are fifty thousand years old…" Hank's voice trails off as the instruments beep. "What in the world?"

Intrigued, I walk over and read the display. "Hey Reggie, looks like you owe me an apology."

"My name is Reginald," the punk sniffed indignantly. "And what do you mean?"

"What I mean is apparently one of the samples has some kind of alloy that is completely unknown," I answer. "As in nothing like it exists on Earth. Add in the odd style of architecture we saw with that pyramid as well as the fact that it obviously took advanced technology to carve out that chamber and then build a twenty story structure, and you've got strong evidence of extraterrestrial influence."

"Right. There is no such thing as aliens. I'll prove it," he snapped back childishly as he stormed off towards the tunnel.

"Just where the fuck do you think you're going?" I ask, my tone shifting back into the "pissed-off drill instructor" range.

"I'm going to the pyramid," Reginald says, trying to sound tough but failing miserably. Figuring I might as well watch him make an ass of himself for the entertainment value, I un-sling my rifle, extend the collapsing stock to the right length, and hold it at the classic "low ready" position as I follow at a decent distance. When we get to the chamber, Reginald surprises me by climbing the pyramid without much difficulty. Slinging my rifle I follow him as he makes his way to the odd spires. "Now what, genius?" I ask sarcastically.

"Look, this spire, while awesome-looking, is nothing more than steel," he says, kicking it with his foot. Not the wisest idea since metal tends to fare better than bone on impact. While he's hopping about on one foot, something odd happens, the spire lights up and the hoops around the base start rotating around one another.

_What the fuck?_ I think as the rings move faster and a bluish pulsing sphere appears in the center. My concern turns to outright panic as the sphere shoots out bolts of energy that wrap around me body. Before I can do anything I feel the world shifts around me, elongating and wavering before I see a flash of light. Then all is darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: BIOWARE OWNS MASS EFFECT

* * *

><p>"Any change?" I hear a feminine voice say, sounding muffled and distant.<p>

"There's been a subtle change in the patient's brain wave activity," another voice replies, also muffled, but with a distinct masculine sound. "It's appears that he's coming out of that coma." the voice continues, starting to sound clearer.

"Good, maybe he can give us some answers," a third voice says, obviously male, but sounding a bit off.

As the voices become clearer and clearer, I become aware of the sounds of a hospital room; the subtle hum of the equipment, the instantly recognizable beep of the EKG monitor. Slowly, I open my eyes, not seeing much more than a blur. Breathing faster, harder, I try to force myself to see, not liking not being able to see my surroundings. As if provoked by my efforts, the equipment starts beeping at a faster and faster rate, catching the attention of the owners of the voices.

"He's waking up! Sedate him before he ends up shocking himself into a heart attack," the female voice says. Finally getting my sight back, I see a large orderly rush to my bed to restrain me as a smallish woman presses a couple controls on a nearby console… with a holographic interface.

I barely have time to think _what the hell?_ before the darkness claims me again. Some time later, I slowly wake up, this time as if from a deep sleep instead of feeling like I was trying to struggle against death. Looking around the room in confusion, I try to figure out what the hell happened. Before I get too far into my thoughts, however, a petite blonde woman walks in wearing a peculiar jumpsuit: form-fitting with grey body with white stripes around the shoulders and upper torso.

"I'm Doctor Alexandria. How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice instantly recognizable from when I awakened the first time.

"Ugh…" I groan, my throat feeling like acidic sandpaper. "Like a bag of smashed ass," I manage to croak before falling into a coughing fit.

"I'm not surprised," she said, getting a cup of water and handing it to me. "You've been out for a while."

Downing the water, I cough a bit more before I manage to answer. "How long?"

"Honestly, we're not sure exactly how long. To the best of our knowledge you've been unconscious for two weeks, but…" her voice trails off and the expression on her face tells me there's something more going on and she's weighing her options. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"Last I knew I was in the Sierra Nevada mountains where we found some kind of chamber buried inside the rock itself. It was roughly the size of a small city with a pyramid inside with some kind of odd spire on top of the pyramid. An archaeology student kicked the spire and the hoops near the base started moving. Then I saw some kind of electrical discharge arc at me. There was a flash… and then I find myself waking up here," I answer, my voice getting clearer, but still hoarse.

"I see," she answers, her voice carefully neutral, but I still read her reaction in her body language. Something is clearly off. "What year is it?" she asks me, her voice bland, but holding an undercurrent of concern.

_What's she upset about? I just came out of a two week coma._ I think. "Last time I checked it's 2011," I answer, watching her carefully for any hint of reaction. I'm not disappointed as her eyes widen in surprise.

"I see," she repeats, apparently at a loss for words. "I'm not sure how to tell you this but…" he voice trails off again.

"What is it? Tell me." I say, sitting up in the bed, but regretting the movement as my body protests.

"I'm sorry, but I have to be blunt. The year is 2182," she says matter-of-factly.

"Bullshit," I say immediately. "Nice try, but there's no way I can be 171 years into the future. My body would be little more than dust and bone by that point."

"I'm being serious," she says, obviously irritated, but taking my mini-outburst in stride. "The year is 2182, you aren't even on Earth."

"Let's say for a moment that I believe you. What proof do you have?" I ask, clearly skeptical, but I remember the holographic computer she used to sedate me.

"Look out the window," she says, tapping a control at a holographic console nearby. "Thanks to modern medical technology, we kept your muscles from atrophying while you were in your coma, so feel free to stand up and move around a bit."

Slowly getting out of the hospital bed, I do as she asks, feeling a bit heavier than normal as I over to the window and seeing an incredible panorama of a metropolis on what looks to be a five-armed space station with various craft that are obviously starships flying past. "What the hell?"

"Welcome to the Citadel. You've got a lot of catching up to do."

True to her word, over the next week I spend my spare time, which is quite a lot since I'm "under observation", learning about the galaxy since I've been "gone".

"Huh… I could have sworn the answer was forty-two," I mutter under my breath as I read an article about the Mass Effect technology that drives everything from spaceships to small arms on a data pad that the hospital provided for me.

"What was that?" Doctor Alexandria asked from her console.

"Nothing important," I answer as the door opens and a tall, powerfully built, dark haired man walks in wearing armor that is black with blue piping down the sides and around the neck.

"Ian McLaughlin?" he asks, checking his omni-tool; a device that functions as a computer, scanner, even as a miniaturized manufacturing tool with the right resources.

"Yeah, that's me," I say, sitting up a bit straighter in my bed. Despite my being in top physical condition, the doctor wants me to stay on bed rest while she does her tests.

"I'm Detective Jones of Citadel Security," he says, reading the data on his omni-tool. "I'm here to ask you a few questions."

"Again?" I ask, getting irritated. "I've already given my statement. It's not going to change just because someone thinks I'm bullshitting them about my being from 2011."

"I'm actually here to re-verify your story," he said patiently. "You say you were on Earth when you came across a pyramid with a mass relay on top?"

"Yes. I was with an archaeology team that came across the pyramid while searching for Native American artifacts," I answer, my tone even, but I know my eyes are showing my irritation.

"I see. And one of the archaeologists kicked the relay, somehow causing it to activate and hurl you here to the Citadel." he continues, watching me closely.

"From what I gather, there's no other explanation. My DNA confirms my identity through the old USMC database, so you know I'm telling the truth about who I am," I answer, my irritation starting to get the best of me. "Tell me the real reason behind all the questions."

"They're just a precaution," the detective explains. "You're the first person this has ever happened to and we are trying to make sure-"

"That I'm not going to go batshit crazy when I see my first alien or something?" I retort, leaning forward and pointing my finger at him. "Look, I never once subscribed to the notion that humanity was alone in the universe. The Milky Way, as vast as it is, only makes up a small fraction of the universe; so it makes sense that there would be sapient life other than humans."

"I see. Well in that case, if the doctor agrees to it, I'd like you to come down to C-Sec. We took your personal belongings into storage when you were found and we need you to sign for them," he answered, clearly relieved that I'm sane… or at least not likely to go on a killing spree.

"I see no reason to keep him under observation any longer," the doctor says to Jones. To me she says, "We'd still like you to come in for check-ups on a regular basis. Your brainwave activity is far different than anything ever recorded, but you seem to be fine as far as your health goes. Just give me an hour or so to process the paperwork and you can go on your way."

True to her word, a bit more than an hour later, I'm walking with Detective Jones and his partner, a Turian by the name of Ruso. "I'm surprised at how well you're taking to being surrounded by non-humans, given the fact you didn't even know we existed until a couple days ago," Ruso says, his voice having an odd flanging effect that I recognize from when I first woke up.

Looking up at his tall frame, I answer "Well, as I said earlier, I've always suspected extraterrestrial life existed. I will admit it's a bit overwhelming, hell, even intimidating on many levels. But I'm not going to let fear slow me down."

"Well said," he answers. "I was expecting you to be xenophobic, but I guess I misread you."

"Xenophobia is a sign of weakness and demonstrates a lack of forethought," I respond, as we continue through the Wards and head to the C-Sec office, passing by various species on our trip, each of them standing out in their own unique ways. The elegant Asari: an all-female race that looks remarkably similar to humans, only with blue skin, tentacle-like scalps instead of hair, and thousand-year life spans. Then you've got the Salarians: hyperactive amphibian-like humanoids with large eyes, what appear to be horns on their heads, and lanky frames. Next you have Turians like Ruso: tall and predatory with distinctly avian features. Then there's the immaculately polite Hanar, aliens that are essentially large, sentient jellyfish who communicate with bioluminescence. And so on.

As we walk through the crowded, neon-lit passages, I receive a curious glance here and there since I'm wearing black cargo pants and a form-fitting midnight t-shirt, quite a bit different than the attire worn by the other citizens. Not to mention my hair is longer than most, reaching to my waist and a distinctive rich shade of auburn. Arriving at C-Sec, I follow the detectives to the evidence locker where my belongings are apparently stored.

"Name, please," the Turian officer working the desk says, almost bored.

"Ian McLaughlin," I answer directly.

"Ah, yes. You're getting famous," he says, clearly not impressed. "The human who screwed with a relay and got blasted forward in time. Your effects are in locker 486," he finished, tapping a control that unlocks the locker.

Walking over to the locker indicated, I open it to find my rifle, my pistol, all the ammo I'd packed for both, my knife, and, strangely enough, my guitar in its case. "Ok. I get how my weapons made it here with me. I was carrying them when the incident occurred. But how the hell did my guitar make it? It was back in the base camp," I ask no one in particular as I slip into my shoulder rig and snug it in place.

"Who knows?" Detective Jones answered. "You're the first case of something like this happening so your guess is as good as ours. Maybe it was because the relay was unstable or something." When I do the obligatory chamber checks on my HK91 and P30, he looks at me in curiosity. "You any good with those old relics?"

"Got a range I can shoot at?" I ask, replacing the P30 in its holster.

"This way," Ruso says, leading us to the practice range where several C-Sec recruits are doing their qualifications. Heading over to an empty lane on the far side of the range, I use the console to set up two targets: a small 3 inch by 5 inch rectangle oriented horizontally at head height and an 8 inch diameter circle at torso height. Both the targets are orange

"Will these targets show where my bullets impact?" I ask as I pop the magazine from my pistol and down load it so that its only holding one round plus the round already chambered.

"Yeah, the computer will mark where you hit with blue dots on the targets," Ruso answers.

Loading the one round magazine into my pistol, down loading one of my spares to only four rounds, and setting the other fully-loaded magazines aside, I ask another question. "And is there a shot timer?"

"Of course," Jones answers.

"Alright, then," I say, keeping my hands clear of my pistol. "Whenever you're ready, start the timer." When the timer beeps, I react instantly; drawing and firing my first two shots into the head, executing a fast emergency reload, and finally finishing with four rapid shots to the larger torso target. Setting my pistol on the bench with the muzzle pointed downrange, I turn to the detectives, reading surprise on the face of the human, and what is likely respect in the eyes of the turian.

"Damn, that was fast. Accurate, too," Ruso commented. "You did that in just over four seconds. Just do us a favor and don't demonstrate that on someone."

Chuckling, I reload the magazines back to full capacity, reload my pistol, and holster it. "As long as no one tries to kill me, I'll play nice."

"Fair enough," he answers. "Everything's in order so you're free to go. Stay out of trouble."

"I will," I say, stowing my rifle along side my guitar and extra ammo in a rolling trunk that they provided for me. Leaving C-Sec, I stroll the wards, realizing for the first time that I'm in a bit of a fix. _Need a place to stay, a job, and so on. Better get started._


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: BIOWARE OWNS MASS EFFECT

* * *

><p>My predicament foremost on my mind, I come across a lively-looking nightclub named "Nebula". Deciding it can be a good place to get the lay of the land, I go inside and look around, my ears filled with the obligatory loud dance music accompanied by the sight of Asari strippers dancing seductively in various areas of the club.<p>

_Wonder if I can get a job here,_ I think, making a beeline for the bar, figuring I could be a bouncer or bartender until I get on my feet. As I walk, I spot a Turian who is obviously drunk accosting one of the dancers. "Come on, baby. I like the hard to get routine as much as the next man, but let's cut the games. I've got creds…" he slurs, grabbing her by the arm.

"Let me go you, asshole!" she answers back, struggling against his grip.

Debating on whether or not I should get involved, I look for the bouncers and see that they're occupied with another troublemaker. Making my decision, I step up to the pair. "Excuse me," I say to the Turian. "Your comment is unimaginative and insulting. And to top it off, you're being an embarrassing example to men of all species. Now you're obviously bothering the lady. I suggest you leave her be before she decides to do something permanent to you."

"Damn humans. Think you're so superior," he half-shouts angrily, releasing the waitress. Advancing on me he continues. "Maybe it's time to teach you a lesson."

Backing up to stay out of his reach, I wait for him to decide to attack. I don't have to wait long as he swings wildly for my head. His attack meets nothing but air, however as I duck under the arc of his swing. Before he has a chance to recover his already alcohol-compromised balance, I dart in and fire a sharp jab to his throat that stuns him and drops him to the floor.

"HEY!" I hear a deep, rumbling voice shout over the sound of the music. Turning to face the voice I see a rather large and angry Krogan stomping over to me. "You got a problem with my business partner, human?"

"Sorry, but your friend picked the wrong fight," I answer, eyeing him warily.

"Looks like you just made the same mistake," he counters, charging at me, head-on.

Knowing damn well this Krogan outclasses me in strength, I sidestep his charge and assume a defensive posture: left foot forward, hands up in loosely closed fists to guard my vitals, my weight evenly distributed on the balls of my feet so I can move in any direction quickly and efficiently. When he rushes me again, he throws a punch which I parry and answer with a right roundhouse kick to his exposed head. Unfortunately, he catches my leg and hurls me halfway across the room. My landing is less than graceful as I crash into a table and it buckles from the impact.

_Ok… new tactic,_ I think as I ignore the pain in my ribs and back and get back to my feet in time for him to charge me again. This time, I hold my ground, grabbing him by his armor, planting my foot in his midsection and falling backwards to use his momentum against him and launching him into the air. Before he hits the ground I'm back on my feet, watching him carefully. Apparently he didn't get the message because he attacks me again, this time more carefully.

His caution doesn't help him, however as I trap his punch and again use his momentum to throw him. This time it's headfirst into a wall and the impact leaves him stunned. Before he can recover, I decide to end this fight immediately. Shuffling in, I put all of my strength into one powerful sidekick that connects with his jaw, knocking him completely out.

Breathing slightly heavier than normal from the exertion, I walk over to the waitress while the bouncers drag the unconscious troublemakers out of the club. "You ok?" I ask.

"I'm fine. And thanks. I'm surprised the bouncers didn't step in," she answers.

"They had other troublemakers to deal with," I answer.

"Yeah, we've been short handed since a bunch of them left to work at Chora's Den," she answered.

Before I can respond, a Salarian walks up. "Many thanks, human. You're welcome to a drink on the house if you want it."

"You're very kind," I answer, feeling my ribs and deciding that nothing's broken. "Actually, I came here to see if I can find any leads on employment."

"Well you can certainly handle yourself in a fight and as Enosa here just said, we're in need of more bouncers. Do you have any other skills?"

"I've worked as a bartender and waiter before. I'm also a fair musician and I'd be willing to play some of my music to help add some variety if you'd like."

"Excellent!" he says, apparently pleased with my answer. "What's your name?"

"Ian McLaughlin," I answer, noting an immediate reaction from Enosa.

"I know who you are," she says, clearly surprised. "You're not what I expected from the human who survived that relay accident. Is it really true that you're over 200 years old?"

"Not quite. This year's what? 2182 on the human calendar? That would make me about 199," I answer, feeling odd saying that.

"Wow… I didn't know humans lived that long."

"We don't," I answer, thinking she's a nice enough girl, but this gushing is beyond irritating. "I somehow got sent forward in time without aging thanks to that relay accident. I have no idea what happened. Anyways, that's not important now. What is important is that I find a job and a place to live."

"Well, Ian," the salarian answers. "My name is Anahe, owner and bartender. I'd be happy to hire you for your services. As for a place to live, I have a friend who can help you find an apartment. In the meantime, I have a room that is sitting by unused, you can stay there if you like."

"Thank you," I answer. "I don't have much with me. Hell, all my stuff is in that trunk," I continue nodding at said trunk. "Shouldn't take me that long to take care of it."

"Once you get settled, feel free to get started," he says. "Despite the incident you just dealt with, we have plenty of bouncers on shift right now. Why not play some of your music when you're ready?"

"I'll do that," I say, carrying my trunk up to the room where I find a small bathroom, and a closet… and not much else. _Well, I've made do with less in the past,_ I think as I set my trunk off to the side and get out my guitar and run through some scales to see if I've lost any of my skill. Not really feeling any change, I take the guitar downstairs and try to figure out how to hook my guitar into the sound system. With the help of the DJ, I manage to get set up.

_Now what the hell do I play?_ I ask myself, knowing that most of my music isn't dance club material. _Fuck it, thrash and burn it is._ Growling in the back of my throat to help me get the snarling vocals I want, I grin wickedly and open up with Megadeth's Mechanix.

Keeping an eye on the crowd to gauge their reaction, it's clear that most of the clientele aren't familiar with heavy metal. _I definitely have their attention, though._ I think, quietly clearing my throat so I can actually sing instead of snarl the lyrics of my next song: Bark at the Moon.

Towards the end of the song, I decide to show off a bit. When it comes time for the outro solo, I only pick the first note, holding my pick hand out and away from my body as I hit every single note by using only hammer-ons and pull-offs.

This time, the crowd starts getting into the music, even starting to dance as I play. Pausing for a moment, I smirk and say, "I take it this means you want me to keep going?" My smirk turns into a lopsided grin when they cheer me on. "Alright then. This next one is called… THE TROOPER!" I shout, doing my best impression of Bruce Dickenson's on-stage antics as I fly right into the song, transitioning straight into Powerslave and Hallowed Be Thy Name.

"Well, you've been an awesome crowd. I was planning on only playing five songs…" I let my voice trail off for a moment. "But, what the hell? I've got one more in me. THE IRON MAIDEN!" I say, putting everything into my encore.

At the end of my set, I'm greeted by several of the patrons, many of them showing appreciation for the music and even giving me tips. Thanking them for their generosity, I make my way to the bar, grab a bite to eat, and all around just chill out while I wait for the adrenaline rush to fade.

"Hello, there," an asari patron says, walking up to me with a fluid grace that tells me she's in precise control of every movement she makes. "I'm Lare. I must say your style of music is different than what I've heard before. Aggressive, powerful, and dark. What do you call it?"

"Hello," I answer politely. "My name's Ian. And my style of music is called 'heavy metal'. For most, it's an acquired taste. As you noted, it's very aggressive and the lyrics often deal with the darker nature of life that most don't want to acknowledge." Knocking back a shot of liquor, I give her a once over: lithely muscled, wearing an elegant, yet slinky black dress that is slit up the sides to give her legs free range of motion, clings to her slender form and complements her blue-purple skin tone almost perfectly. _Well, damn. She's definitely a looker._

"I see," she answers, ordering a drink of her own. "Well I can tell you're as opinionated as other humans. But your music is intriguing. Did you write the songs yourself?"

"I'm afraid not," I answer truthfully. "Just about all of my songs were the product of musicians from nearly two hundred years ago. I know that's just a blink of an eye to an asari, but for a short-lived species like humans, that's a substantial amount of time. Especially when one considers that heavy metal was never a mainstream style of music."

"Well, that makes it all the more impressive. That you are willing to learn the music of several generations past and try to bring it back to life," she answers sipping at her drink, eyeing me seductively.

_Not happening yet, lady. I'm easy, but not THAT easy._ I think, feeling my lips curve into a smirk. "Thank you for the kind words," I answer, not revealing that the songs are actually my contemporaries. Stifling a yawn, I say, "Well, I've had a long day and I need to call it a night."

"Alright," she says, looking a bit disappointed, but taking it in stride, her eyes glinting like a cat that has found a new toy to play with. "I'm a regular here so maybe I'll see you later."

"You probably will," I respond as I head to my room, put away my guitar, and stretch out on the floor. The last thing I see in my mind before sleep takes me into its embrace are the faces of my loved ones. _Holy shit… they're really gone… mom... dad..._


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: BIOWARE OWNS MASS EFFECT

A/N: Please read and review.

* * *

><p>What's that old saying? "The more things change, the more they remain the same"?<p>

I ask myself silently as I shave after taking my morning shower in the apartment Anahe helped me find. The past couple months been pretty hectic; from getting a lease on an apartment, to buying clothes, learning how to use an omni-tool, catching up on what I've missed, and so on. _Still have no idea what I'm going to do for the long term, though._

Finishing up with my morning routine, I step out of my bathroom and head into my bedroom to get dressed, picking out a black pair of relaxed-fit pants I'd altered to have a couple hidden pockets for my spare pistol magazines, a pair of good black leather boots complete with a tanto-style boot knife, a charcoal grey form-fitting t-shirt, and a navy blue jacket to help conceal my shoulder rig.

_Busy day ahead. Got a message about the local newsies wanting to interview me, _I think as I lock up my apartment and walk towards Nebula. "Hey Ian," one of the bouncers, a six-foot-four, muscle-bound human with close-cropped hair says as I walk in. "Isn't today your day off?"

"Yeah it is, but I promised the cook I'd share a couple of my recipes from back home," I answer, stopping for a moment, looking up at him since I'm only five-foot seven and maybe a buck fifty soaking wet. I'm the better fighter, though and we both know it.

"Sure. I bet seeing Lare has nothing to do with it at all," he says, ribbing me.

Chuckling, I cheerfully flip him off and head for the kitchen. "Hey Merinya," I say to the asari cook, tying on an apron and tucking my hair underneath a cap. "You get the ingredients?"

"Yeah," she says, finishing off a shot of her favorite liquor and setting the grill up.

"Alright. This isn't exactly high-class fare, but it's a damn tasty dish that's easy to throw together and should be pretty popular. If not, then no harm in trying," I comment as I get the ingredients out of the refrigerator: shaved sirloin steak, cheddar cheese sauce, onions, and some sesame seed hoagie rolls. Getting to work, I make a quintessential American heart-attack sandwich: the legendary Philly Cheese Steak. "Here. Give it a try," I say, handing her one of the sandwiches.

Looking intrigued, she takes a bite of the sandwich. "This is pretty good," she says enthusiastically. "What do you call it?"

"It's called a Philly Cheese Steak," I answer, digging into my own sandwich. Between bites I continue. "Not the healthiest or most refined sandwich, but it's simple to make and goes great with most bar foods."

"I see," she says, finishing her sandwich. "I'll ask Anahe if we can add it to the menu and see how it plays out."

"Cool," I say. "Well I'd better get going. See you later." Taking off the kitchen clothes, I head out of the club and hail a cab to take me to the Presidium where the embassies are located and where the media wants to do my interview. _Why they want me up there is beyond me. I'm not fond of "rich" districts to begin with._

When I arrive, I check the time and realize I'm about an hour early. _Might as well go walkabout and see what's what._ I think, taking a stroll. _I'll give the designers of this station credit. The architecture here is impressive. Organic and serene. If they made a mistake, it's that they made this place feel a little too perfect._

As I walk, I notice my clothing stands out more than usual as everyone is wearing either suits or elegant dresses that obviously cost more than three months worth of my current wages. _Judging from their air of self-importance, they're politicians or people born with the proverbial silver spoons in their mouths. _Passing through the financial district, I continue on to the emporium, and past a building that has a mixed group of people chatting outside.

"Have you seen the Consort yet?" a Salarian asks me as I walk past.

"Please forgive my ignorance, but I have no idea who that is," I answer, knowing my usual bluntness and language would be frowned on in this area and I don't need the trouble.

"She's amazing. There's no words to describe her," he says, obviously in awe. "She can be anything for anyone. Just being in her presence is soothing."

"I see. Well if I have the opportunity, I'll try to meet her," I say. _Right. If she can hold that kind of sway over someone either they are weak-willed morons, or she's damn good at manipulating people,_ I think to myself as I continue on with my wanderings and end up at the Embassy Lounge in time for my interview.

"Hello, Mr. McLaughlin," the reporter, a middle-eastern looking human woman says as I walk over. "I'm Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani, Westerlund News. Thank you for taking the time for this interview."

"Please, call me Ian," I say, not being a fan of unnecessary formality.

"Let's get started," she says, cueing her camera to start recording. "Tell us a little about yourself, Ian."

"There's really not much to tell," I say honestly. "I'm from Earth, spent some time in the military, got a degree in physics, and took up archaeology as a hobby. Nothing really special about me."

"But there is something special about you," she counters. "You're from the past, or so you claim."

"I can see you're skeptical," I answer pleasantly and patiently. "Frankly, if I hadn't went through it myself, I'd think I was full of it too. But the fact is, I was born in the year 1983. In 2011 I was part of an archaeological dig that discovered what I know now are Prothean ruins inside a mountain in the Sierra Nevada chain. While we were studying it, we inadvertently activated a mass relay that had been built atop the ruins. The last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital is getting caught in the mass effect field."

"That's pretty far-fetched," she presses.

"Far-fetched or not, it's the truth," I respond, wondering if she's setting me up for a smear job. "If you look at the records from around the time I claim the incident happened, you'll notice there was an explosion that occurred at the site where the dig was. It was officially explained away as a buildup of methane and other flammable gasses. However, many fringe groups noted that the magnitude of the blast was beyond anything a simple gas buildup could generate. From there, conspiracy theories abounded until the incident faded into obscurity."

"A logical explanation," she says snidely, tipping her hand. "But since you claim the event faded into obscurity, you have no proof of your claims."

_Ok, bitch. If you want to play it that way, I can play_ I think behind an mask of amusement. "For a reporter, you don't do much research about a subject." I counter, baiting her.

"Perhaps it's because there is no evidence proving you are who you say you are," she answers with a smirk, clearly thinking she's won.

"I said the reports went into obscurity. I didn't say they no longer existed," I fire back. Using my omni-tool, I pull up the report. "This is the official investigation report for the incident I've mentioned. And this," I continue, pulling up a list of documents, "is the list of the more popular theories regarding what happened. As for my identity, that was verified even before I awoke in the hospital. The Alliance ran a sample of my DNA and it identified me as Sergeant Ian Nathanial McLaughlin, United States Marine Corps."

"Still you could ha-"

"'Still' nothing, Ms. al-Jilani," I snap, my tone sharper than the knife in my boot as I continue with the verbal beat down. "You clearly have an agenda focused on making me appear to be a charlatan or simply insane. Now I may not be what most consider 'normal', but I'm no charlatan. What makes you even more insufferable is the fact that you don't even take the time to do rudimentary research, instead you rely on opinion and emotion rather than fact. And if THAT wasn't enough, I'm dealing with the fact that EVERY friend and family member I have ever known is now long-dead and you're questioning my integrity with thinly veiled personal insults. You are a classic example of why journalists are generally as well respected as politicians or attorneys in many circles. Shit, I know of crime lords who have better reputations than you. And this interview is over."

Leaving her in the lounge, I hail a cab and head back to my apartment. As I get to my floor, I see Lare in the hallway.

"Hey, Ian," she says walking over to me, her steps fluid, almost predatorily graceful, matching well with her outfit: a black jumpsuit with green trim around the collar and sleeves that leaves her midriff bare and a pair of well-worn combat boots. "I saw your interview. I'm impressed with how you handled that reporter. I'd have slapped her with a singularity or shot her in the foot if she pulled that on me."

"Thanks," I say, opening my apartment and letting her in. "I have to say I wasn't surprised when she tried pulling her little stunt. Journalism certainly hasn't improved much over the years, it seems." Getting a couple soft drinks from the fridge, I hand one to her and ask, "So… what's the plan for tonight?"

"I was thinking we'd go get dinner and go from there," she says, accepting the drink and taking a sip.

"Sounds good to me," I say, downing my drink and throwing the can into a recycling bin. "Ready to go?"

"Sure," she says, finishing her drink and taking the lead as we walk through the wards, stopping at various shops before getting a quick dinner at an asari restaurant. We then head to a theatre for a vid and then we go to a casino for a few games of cards and quasar. After it's over, we head to her apartment and sit out on the balcony, gazing at the nebula surrounding the citadel.

"I'll never tire of the beauty of the galaxy," I comment, sipping at a cup of coffee.

"This from the guy who sings of darkness and how life sucks and thinks picking a fist fight with a krogan is a good way to kill time," Lare answers teasingly. "If you're not careful, you'll ruin your reputation."

Chuckling, I decide to ask her a question. "So, if you don't mind my asking... What do you do for a living, Lare? I know you're not a dancer. You're graceful, but it's more of a predatory grace."

Pausing for a moment, as if to weigh her options, she gives me her answer. "I'm a merc. Freelance, mostly," she says eyeing me closely, obviously gauging my reaction.

"Well, there's something else we have in common, then," I say. "While I have a degree in physics and took up archaeology as a hobby, I was primarily a private investigator and bounty hunter after I got out of the Corps."

"Mercs don't have the best reputation, so I was a bit worried you'd be upset," she says, obviously relieved that I'm not running for the door or trying to kill her.

"Meh, not all mercs are bad. I fought along side a bunch of them a couple times and was damn glad they were on my side. Hell, all of them were soldiers and marines who loved what they did, but wanted better pay and the freedom to say no to jobs they didn't want," I answer, remembering a couple hairy situations my platoon had found themselves in. _Good times._

"I agree. I won't lie, though. I've worked for crime syndicates before," she answers. "I was trying to find someone and they were the only ones who had the info. Other times they had the best jobs."

"Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do," I say. "No shame in that. Truth be told, I've been trying to figure out what to do for a long term job. Nebula is a nice club and I like the people there, but it's not career material for me. I'd be bored if it weren't for my music."

"I see. Well, if you want, you can accompany me on my jobs," she answers. "It'll be interesting having a human partner," she continues, the glinting in her eyes telling me she's aware of the double-entendre. "You'll need better weapons than your pistol and rifle, though. And you'll need armor as well."

"Yeah, that's not exactly something I'm looking forward to," I say. "I know guns are nothing but tools, but I'm attached to them. Besides, I've only been here a couple months. I don't have the money for new weapons and, more critically, the training to run them well."

"You continue to impress me. Most people don't think about training when it comes to weaponry. I can loan you some of my weapons until you get your own, and I'll go with you to help you pick out your armor so you don't end up buying shitty equipment."

"Thanks. Don't be surprised if I decide to figure out how to adapt my current weapons, though. They may be outdated, but they don't rely on electronics. No electronics means less chance for something to get screwed up." I say, knowing damn well I'll become proficient with the current generation of weapons, but still wanting to cling onto one of my connections to my past.

Shaking her head in amusement, Lare smiles. "And there's that human stubbornness that is quickly becoming your species' trademark. Not that it's a bad thing to see someone who doesn't give up when they set a goal."

"True," I say, wanting to ask about the asari, but not quite comfortable enough to pester her with such questions yet. "Well, it's getting late. I'd better head back to my place," I continue, standing up to deposit the coffee cup into the sink.

"Alright," she says, following me. Before I can leave, though, she leans down and gives me a quick chaste kiss on the lips. "Something for you to think about," she says, running her hand down my arm before sashaying away.

_This could definitely get interesting,_ I think as I hail a cab and head home for the night, falling asleep and seeing Lare in my dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: BIOWARE OWNS MASS EFFECT

_A/N: Ok, I'm going to see if I can try to show one of Ian's weaknesses. I just hope it doesn't wind up being too sappy._

* * *

><p>"Alright, what's the job?" Lare asks our prospective client, a Salarian who insists on anonymity.<p>

Can't say I blame him,

I think as I lean against a wall nearby the booth they're sitting in, keeping an eye on the crowd since we're in Chora's Den; a club that's almost like Nebula, just with more dead bodies. _Have to admit, not even three months since I arrived and I'm already getting set for a contract job. That's impressive, even for me._

"Well my brother is in the… discreet supply business," he said. "He was on a run out to the Skyllian Verge when his ship got attacked by pirates. I'd assumed the worst, but I got a message demanding ransom."

"I hope you didn't pay," a second asari, a commando named Ka'ira and one of Lare's closest friends, says.

"Of course not. Their deadline isn't for a couple weeks, but I'm not stupid. They'll kill him as soon as they get their money."

"Any idea where they're located?" Lare asks, taking down notes.

"Last I heard they're on Sharjila, but I'm not sure how reliable that info is," he answers, looking around nervously.

"We'll have to confirm that," Lare says, writing more information in her notes.

"What kind of opposition will we be facing?" Ka'ira asks, leaning back in the booth while she sips at her drink.

"I'm not sure," the Salarian answers, fidgeting in his seat.

"I'm no expert on reading non-human body language," I begin, briefly making eye contact with him before resuming my scanning of the crowd. "But I get the impression you're holding out on us."

"No, no, I'm not hiding anything. I'm just nervous," he says.

_I don't buy it,_ I think, but I let it go, and judging from their expressions, Lare and Ka'ira don't believe him either, but neither will press it.

"Well that's all I know. How much?" he continues, obviously eager to wrap things up.

"Forty thousand. Half up front, the other half when we complete the job," Lare says after a couple moments' thought.

"You're joking, right?" he asks, clearly taken aback at the fee.

"Hey. You want the best, you pay for it," Ka'ira retorts, finishing her drink.

"But it's more than the ransom-"

"Then pay the damn ransom and take your chances," I snap. "You want your brother back alive, we're your best chance to make it happen. The authorities will stand around with their collective dicks in their hands and argue about how to deal with the pirates. And there's the part about your brother's 'discreet supply business' getting exposed. I'm sure he'd just LOVE that. Face it: we're the only real option you have."

"Alright, I'll pay," he sighs, slumping slightly in his seat. "The money will be in your accounts before you leave. If you'll excuse me…"

When he leaves, I slide into the booth where he was sitting. "Hostage rescue, huh? That's always fun," I say dryly.

"I know what you mean," Lare says. "Any thoughts?"

"Well, obviously stealth is going to be a key to this job. If those pirates are smart, they'll cut their losses if we're detected at the wrong time."

"Agreed," she answers. "You might have to hang back and be Ka'ira's spotter, though. You're not trained enough on mass effect weapons to be much of an asset."

"Then why are we bringing him?" Ka'ira asks, irritated that I'm involved in the job.

"He's a skilled fighter and he's adaptable," Lare says, having sparred with me a few times and has seen my weapons handling skills when we were getting me outfitted. "The only issue he has is he's not as familiar with mass effect weapons as we'd like."

"So he's going to be unarmed the whole time?"

"Oh, I'll be armed, trust me," I say, already trying to figure how I'm going to be useful for this job.

"With those ancient relics?" Ka'ira asks, the edge in her voice sharpening.

"These 'relics' are more useful than you think," I say. "For example… I'm assuming Lare will be using her biotics instead of her guns during her infiltration."

"Of course. Guns are noisy as hell and they'd tip off the pirates to our presence," she says matter-of-factly.

"My guns can be adapted to fit sound suppressors. Coupled with subsonic ammo, they drastically reduce the sound and flash signature associated with firing guns," I respond. "Now I'll probably have to use supersonic loads for my ammunition so I can defeat the enemies' armor, but I'll still be ahead of the curve since they'll have a hard time figuring how where my shots are coming from."

"What about shields?," Ka'ira asks pointedly.

Giving her a droll look, I answer sarcastically. "And what do you think overloading is for?"

"I heard you were a stubborn wise-ass," she says with grudging respect.

"You've got no idea," Lare says, standing up and stretching, her lithe, sleek muscles rippling with the movement. Knowing that I'm eying her, Lare gives me a wink before stepping out of the booth. "Let's go. We've got a lot of work to do."

A couple days later, we're on board a cargo ship heading literally across the galaxy for the Artemis Tau cluster where our objective is. _If it weren't for the mass relays, this would be impossible,_ I think, setting up my workbench. While Lare and Ka'ira are trying to get more intel on the situation, I'm modifying my HK91 to a short-barreled configuration and replacing the flash hider with a suppressor. _And people kept telling me I was wasting my time learning how to be a cage monkey._ I think to myself, using the slang term for an armorer. Re-assembling my rifle, I load up some of my new armor piercing (AP) rounds, pace off ten meters and take aim at a piece of ceramic that represents heavy personal armor with a block of ballistic gelatin behind it and an old, thick-walled container to act as a bullet trap.

Taking careful aim, I realize I've yet to re-zero the sights. _Shit. I'll have to deal with that later._ Taking a breath, I gently squeeze the trigger and the round flies with a muted crack. _Suppressor still works,_ I think as I squeeze off four more shots. Safing the rifle, I unload it and set it on my workbench before walking over to the armor and gelatin.

_Not bad,_ I think as I see the results of my work: all five shots defeated the armor and penetrated fifteen inches in the gelatin block. The rounds also yawed and I can see where the temporary stretch cavities tore the block. _An AP load that doesn't over penetrate and leaves impressive wound channels. Pretty damn good for old tech._

"That's impressive," Lare says from behind me, surveying the results of my work.

"Yeah. Not much I can do about shields, though," I answer, knowing that I'll eventually have to retire my guns and not liking it one bit. "Still, I'm glad to be able to get some more use out of these things until I become proficient with the current tech."

"I'm starting to see why humans are so successful; you set your minds to a goal and you stay focused until you accomplish it," Ka'ira says, walking over with a data pad in her hand. "I managed to get more information on the target. Looks like we're going against a bunch of amateurs. They're vicious, but not disciplined or well-trained."

"That's good news," Lare says, taking the pad and reading the information.

"How reliable is it?" I ask, having been burned by bad intel before.

"About as reliable as one can get," she answers. "This band is notorious for killing all the passengers of the vessels they capture, so their asking for ransom is unusual, but maybe they decided to get greedy."

"Fair enough," I say, mentally preparing myself for the job. "Got the layout?"

"Standard pre-fab outpost among a bunch of rocks. Gives them great concealment, but it works both ways. The two of you should be able to get in close without them noticing."

"Sounds interesting," Lare says, setting the data pad aside. "How long until we arrive?"

"A couple days yet," Ka'ira answers. "I hate this waiting."

"I hear you," I answer, reloading my rifle's magazine and reinserting it, but not chambering a round. "No use in stressing over it, though." Going to my bench, I disassemble my pistol and replace the standard barrel with a threaded barrel and an Osprey: a 9mm suppressor that doesn't require me to swap out the sights due to its eccentric design. Basically the bore is offset so the majority of the suppressor is below the barrel instead of being a big cylinder. Not even bothering with testing it since I know the suppressor's in good shape, I holster it and head to my cabin.

Sitting on my bunk, I pull out my guitar and play a couple folk songs. Not really wanting to thrash and burn, but feeling more like just chilling out and relaxing. When I'm warmed up, I play an all-time classic: Stairway to Heaven. Lost in the tranquil feel of the music, I follow with The Sound of Silence and The Boxer, singing as well as playing. When I'm finished with The Boxer, I notice Lare standing in the door way. "Sorry if I'm disturbing you," I say. "I just need to relax before the stress throws me off."

"You're not disturbing me. That was beautiful," she says, walking into my cabin and sitting next to me, her movements fluidly graceful, complimenting the ivory colored form-fitting jumpsuit she's wearing. When she catches me staring, she smiles. "It seems "Mr. The World Sucks" has a soft side after all," she teases playfully.

"Can't thrash and burn all the time," I say. "Sometimes one has to step back and enjoy whatever beauty they can find. Besides, ballads are fun to play and a nice change of pace."

"True enough. Do you know any more?" she asks, shifting closer to me, almost touching.

"Sure," I answer. Debating for a moment on what song I want to play, I decide to go with Eric Clapton's Wonderful Tonight. As I sing the song, I meet her gaze with mine, actually singing to her instead of for her.

"Another beautiful song. But I get the feeling you chose that one deliberately," she says.

"I did," I answer, setting my guitar aside. Taking a breath, I try to think of the words to express what I want to say, but fail. _Never was eloquent. Might as well be blunt._ "Lare, I… Dammit, why is it I can face a pissed-off Krogan in a fist fight, but I can't talk about this without turning into a wuss?" Taking a breath to calm down, I continue. "Alright. Lare, I'm attracted to you. I want to be with you."

"Well, I was starting to wonder if you were interested or not," she says, shifting closer and wrapping her arm around my shoulders. "Why are you so nervous? You know I'm attracted to you. I wouldn't be dropping those not-so-subtle hints otherwise."

"I figured as much," I answer, taking her hand in mine. "I guess I'm nervous over the whole human/Asari thing, for one."

"You mean you don't know what to expect," she says, her eyes showing understanding.

"Well, that's not the only reason I'm nervous," I say. "I know we're friends, but I can't help but feel that you're out of my league."

"What do you mean?"

"Lare, you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. Scratch that, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever met. Now I clean up pretty nicely, but that's about all I can say for myself," I answer, hating the fact that I'm confident enough to stand my ground against violence, yet all but turn into an idiot when it comes to women.

Laughing, Lare shakes her head. "It's not your looks that attract me, Ian. I think you're selling yourself short, as you humans say. You might not meet some overblown human ideal, but you're attractive in a roguish way. Besides, you're unique, and not just because of your accident. You're a curious blend of the darkness and the light. And despite how frustrating it can be, your stubbornness can also be quite endearing. I know it seems fast considering we've only known each other for a couple months, but this feels right to me." Gazing deep into my eyes, she leans in and kisses me softly.

Returning her kiss, I pull her into my arms, our kiss quickly becoming more passionate. Before we go too far, though, I break the kiss. "I'm sorry, but I'm not ready yet. Not before a mission," I say, my nervousness still there, but not quite as bad as before.

"Alright, I understand," she says, stroking my cheek. "In the meantime, I can help you with your nervousness, if you want."

"How are you going to do that?" I ask, curiosity piqued.

"Well, I can show you some of what to expect. A preview, if you like," she answers with a sly smile. "When asari mate, we join our minds with our partners. Our minds and bodies become as one. We share the experience on every level. We can also simply meld our minds for the purpose of exchanging thoughts."

"What are you offering?"

"If you want, I can join our minds so you have an idea of what to expect, and to help quell your nervousness," she says, gazing into my eyes.

Thinking for a moment, I decide to trust her. "Alright. Tell me what to do."

Smiling warmly, she gives me another soft kiss and whispers, "Just relax." Then her violet eyes flood to complete black. "Embrace eternity," she continues.

Clearing my mind and relaxing as much as possible, I feel an odd sensation, like a gentle breeze among my thoughts as she joins our minds. Before long, I'm hearing her thoughts, and I'm certain she's hearing mine. After a few minutes, her eyes return to their normal color and our minds separate.

"That was… I don't know how to describe it," I say honestly. "For lack of a better word, it felt alien. But it wasn't unpleasant."

"That's just a sample of what we can share, Ian. Think of it as an incentive to not get killed," she says with an impish grin as she gives me a kiss on the cheek and walks out of my cabin.

Laying down on my bunk, I try to make sense of the thoughts spinning through my head. _An incentive? Most definitely. _I think, drifting off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: BIOWARE CREATED THE MASTERPIECE KNOWN AS MASS EFFECT

_A/N: WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A LEMON. I'LL TRY TO MARK IT OFF WITH "**************" AS BEST I CAN FOR THOSE WHO DON'T WANT TO READ IT._

* * *

><p>Sitting in the shuttle on our way to our drop zone, I inspect my armor: a desert tan and earth brown patterned lightweight suit that is geared more for mobility than a knock-down drag-out fight. <em>Works for me. Never did like slug matches.<em>

"Nervous?" Ka'ira asks, an amused smirk on her face.

"Why would I be nervous? I'm only going into combat for the first time in years against a foe whose numbers and equipment are unknown," I return sarcastically, using my omni-tool to calibrate the scope on my rifle and make the necessary adjustments for a 50/200 zero. _Dead on at 50 and 200 meters, a couple inches high at 100 and a few inches low at 300. Should work well enough for what we're likely to face._

Laughing at my wise-ass comment, Ka'ira goes over her sniper rifle, a Devlon Striker VIII. "You sure you're up for this?"

"This isn't my first hostage rescue op, Ka'ira," I say, starting to get irritated. "Granted the last one I was part of wound up going FUBAR, but that's what bad intel will do to you."

"FUBAR?" Lare asks with a frown. "I've never heard that term before."

"It's an old Marine acronym," I explain. "Stands for 'Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition'."

"Such a way with words," she answers with a laugh.

"If it's one thing I learned in the Corps, it's the eloquent use of profanity to make my displeasure known regarding a given situation," I comment with a chuckle of my own.

"ETA, fifteen minutes," the pilot says over the intercom.

_Alright. Time to get serious,_ I think, as we pull on our helmets, sealing them and making sure the electronics work. "Com check," I say over our radio frequency.

"You're good," Ka'ira says as Lare unslings her assault rifle, a Breaker VII, and checks the heat sinks.

"Hang on, we're going to hit some turbulence when we dive into the storm," the pilot warns us as he begins his decent into our landing zone, a stretch of open sand a few miles away from our objective. Several minutes, and a shit load of cursing, later and we're on the ground. _Jeez, this place kind of reminds me of Arrakis. With my luck, there'll be a sandworm looking to munch on my ass._

"Looks like a clean insertion," Lare said, using her omni-tool to check for radio traffic.

"THAT," I say with a shit-eating grin, although they can't see it through the visor of my helmet, "is most assuredly what she said." That wise-ass comment earns me a biotic slap upside the back of my skull. "Alright, I'll shut up now," I say, settling down and getting focused.

"Looks like we really are up against amateurs," Lare continues. "No signs of com traffic whatsoever."

"Good news for us," Ka'ira says, unslinging her rifle. "Let's move out before they get smart."

Half an hour later, Lare and I are at the edge of the base, weapons in hand and Ka'ira giving us top cover. "I count two patrols. Looks like three mercs per group. They're pretty spread out, though. You should be able to sneak past them without much trouble."

"Sounds good to me," I say. Despite the suppressed rifle in my hands, taking out a group of three mercs standing right next to one another is a tall task.

"Just be careful. It only takes one asshole to sound the alarm and the hostages are fucked," Ka'ira answers.

"Then we'll just have to do it real quiet-like," I quip, stealing a line from Star Wars.

"Ian…" Lare says, her voice sounding like she's both irritated and amused by my banter. "Alright. Let's go."

Darting from boulder, to ditch, to piece of scrap hull, we manage to get to the building unseen. _So far, so good._ I think, my mind shifting to all business as I keep my rifle at low ready and wait for Lare to get the layout of the building.

"Ok. Looks like there's only one entrance to the building. That's both good news and bad news. We don't have to worry about them escaping out a back door, but they're bound to have someone watching it." Tapping a couple controls, she continues. "I could hack the door, but that will probably just tip them off and blow any chance we have to hell."

"So we wait for a change in the guard to make our assault," I say confidently.

"Yes, but we'll have to move quickly," she answers, logging off her omni-tool and holding her rifle at low ready. "This could get messy."

"Maybe not," I say, as I have a sudden idea. "If we take them out silently, we'll have a bit of a buffer so we can get set up."

"How are you going to do that?" Lare asks, a bit skeptical. "You might have suppressors on your guns, but they're still noisy enough to give away our presence when indoors and my biotics will be picked up by their omni-tools."

"Simple: we take them the old-fashioned way," I say with a vicious grin as I sling my rifle and draw my knife, a six inch tanto, from its sheath on my belt.

"Are you sure about this?" Lare asks, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "You're good, but this is pushing it."

"That's why there's always Plan B. If this fails, we hit them hard and fast before they get a chance to prepare."

"Alright. I'll cover you," she says, bringing her rifle to her shoulder as I creep to the corner of the wall.

We don't wait for long before the door opens and a group of pirates walk out of the door.

"We should just kill the hostages. They're too much risk," one of them, a gruff-sounding human, says.

"But think of the creds we're going to make by selling them to the batarians," his colleague, a Turian counters.

_Not this time, assholes,_ I think as I creep up on them and strike. Moving in a blur, I drive my knife into the side of the Turian's neck while I punch the human in the throat hard enough to collapse his windpipe. Before the third pirate, another human, can react, I knock his shotgun aside and throw him to the ground with a basic outside leg sweep. Following him to the ground, I land on top of him in a full mount, grab his head and break his neck with a sharp twist.

Retrieving my knife and wiping the blood from the blade, I signal Lare to move up with me. Skulking in the shadows, we move from room to room, silently eliminating the pirates one by one. Then we come to a room where there's absolutely no cover and three guards. "Well this is just wonderful," I whisper, after quickly peeking around the corner to see what we're up against.

"Let me guess, we're going to have to blow our cover?" Lare asks, her breathing only slightly elevated from the exertion.

"Looks like. Get ready to move," I say, unslinging my rifle. Peeking around the corner one last time, I take a breath and make my move. Smoothly rising from my crouch and turning the corner, I line up my sights and fire, transitioning quickly from one target to the next. Before the bodies fall, I'm already in motion, sprinting to the door with Lare close behind.

When we reach the door, I stand back while she hacks the controls. With a click the lock disengages and Lare opens the door. Before the door finishes its movement, I throw a flash bang into the room. Lare and I storm the room not even a millisecond after the device goes off with a blinding flash and deafening roar, opening fire and clearing the room within seconds.

As the echoes from the flash bang and gunfire fade, all the pirates are down with blood spraying from their ruined skulls. "CLEAR!" I shout out of habit before checking the hostages and seeing they're doing fine, all things considered.

"Oh, shit," Lare says, checking the uniforms of the dead mercs.

"What is it?" Ka'ira asks over the com, her sniper rifle barking loudly over our earpieces as she finishes off the sentries outside.

"We know why this group took hostages this time," Lare says, her voice calmer now the initial shock of her discovery has passed. "They were being ordered around by the Blue Suns."

"Wow. They're going to be pissed," Ka'ira said.

"Let's just hope they don't try to pull a vendetta," Lare said with a sigh, the stress bleeding off since the hard part of the operation is over.

"I take it they're major players?" I comment as I search the room and find several data pads. _Could have valuable info,_I think as I stash them on my person.

"One of the three biggest merc organizations in the Terminus Systems," Lare confirms. "They're mostly gunrunners and slavers."

"Well, that gives me all the reason I need to not work with them. I fucking HATE slavers," I say, venom dripping from my voice.

"Me too. Not to mention they backstabbed me in the past," she answered. "Come on. Let's get out of here and get our paychecks."

An hour or so later, we're back on the transport and heading for the Citadel. Sitting on my bunk with my guitar back in my hand, I'm trying to remember how to play Iron Maiden's "Starblind". Before I get too far into my music, the door opens and Lare walks in, still wearing her armor.

"How did I know you'd be playing your guitar?" she asks as she stands in front of me, her tone amused.

"Because I like playing music almost as much as I enjoy a good fight?" I quip, setting the guitar aside.

"You really are insufferable, aren't you?" she says with a laugh. "That was impressive down there, by the way. The way you tore through those mercs was a sight to behold."

"I have my moments," I answer, thinking back to the three guards I'd taken out before we stormed the room with the hostages. _Three headshots in less than two seconds and we were across the room before the bodies had finished falling. Damn, but that felt epic. And the guards before we even got inside… was I possessed by Chuck Norris or something?_

"Oh, so _now_ you're modest?" she asks, arching an eyebrow. "I'm not buying it." Stalking closer to the side of my bed, she stops within arms reach and eyes me like a predator who just found dinner. "Not to mention you teasing me last night. I'll have you know I had a hard time getting to sleep last night after your antics. And I intend to make you pay for that." Before I can react, her hand darts out and seizes me by the collar of my jumpsuit, hauling me to my feet and into a heated kiss.

"*************************************************************************************************"

Responding immediately to her aggressiveness, I kiss her back, one arm wrapping around her armor-clad waist while my other hand finds the back of her head and pulls her closer. After what seems to be an eternity, we come up for air, breathing heavily. Deciding to take charge myself, I nibble a path along her jaw and find the pulse in her neck, nipping and sucking gently. _I guess humans and asari have something in common_,I think, listening to her moans.

Suddenly, her hand snarls in my hair and jerks me away from her neck. "Get me out of this armor before I hit you with a singularity so strong, you'll wake up when I'm a Matriarch."

Chuckling, I grin at her. "Yes, ma'am," I say. Working quickly, my fingers find the clasps holding the ceramic plates together and let them fall to the deck with a semi-metallic clatter. Before she can seize me again, I finish undressing her and pin her to the wall, kissing her wildly. As our tongues wrestle with one another, my hand finds her breast, kneading the soft flesh and pinching her nipple.

Apparently having had enough of the teasing, Lare uses her biotics to throw me onto the bunk. Stalking after me, she literally rips my clothes off and pins my arms over my head. Smiling darkly, her eyes flood to black as she whispers, "Embrace Eternity" and joins our minds just as she sinks down onto my cock.

"God…" I groan as I feel her slick heat enveloping me, at the same time feeling her pleasure at me filling her.

We stay still for a moment, giving each other a chance to calm down a bit and to let this moment last. After a couple minutes, Lare starts riding me; slowly at first, but quickly picking up the pace as she abandons herself to her lust. Not wanting to be out done, I sit up under her and capture one of her nipples with my lips while one of my hands finds her other breast, squeezing tightly.

"Harder," she pants, slamming onto me as fast as she can manage, her hands tangling in my hair and holding me to her breast. Not being one to disappoint, I suck harder on her sensitive skin, adding teeth to the mix while my finger nails echo my attentions on her other breast, my free arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her onto me faster and harder than she can manage on her own.

"Goddess," she groans, her walls tightening around me.

Releasing her breast, I lay back and let her take complete control, the sight of this amazing beauty riding me driving me to the limits of sanity. Meeting my golden hazel eyes with her eyes of midnight black, she smiles as she sits up, changing the angle of me inside her until she finds the right spot rides me wildly. Her moans turn to cries until she lets out a loud scream that echoes off the bulkhead as her body clamps down on mine almost painfully.

Sitting up again, I roll us over without falling out of her and ram into her as hard and fast as I can, fighting against the tightness of her body and heightening her orgasm. Her screams turn to ear-piercing shrieks as her nails dig into my back and shoulders hard enough to draw blood. That last bit is what sends me over the edge and with one final thrust, I shout her name as I join her in bliss.

Collapsing on top of her, I listen to her frenzied heartbeat while I wait for my limbs to cooperate. "And to think I was afraid of this," I manage to say in a raspy voice after several tries.

"*************************************************************************************************"

"Mmm…" Lare answers, gazing up at me with unfocused violet eyes. "That was pretty damn good. I may just have to keep you around," she continues, tangling her legs in mine so I can't leave her.

Chuckling, I grin at her. "I may have to hold you to that offer."

"Good, because it wasn't an offer," she says, pulling me into a soul-searing kiss.

Breaking the kiss, I quip. "Well whichever one of us who can stand first gets the first shower."

Laughing at my wit, she yawns and answers, "How about we wait until morning and conserve the ship's water supply?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," I say with a yawn of my own, shifting my weight so it's easier for her to breathe. Before too long, we fall asleep in each others arms.


	7. Chapter 7

DISCLAIMER: (WITH RESIGNATION: I DO NOT OWN ANY PART OF MASS EFFECT OR THE SONGS DEPICTED IN MY STORIES)

A/N: Well it's been a while, but my muse is finally cooperating again after taking me off on a tangent in the Mercs Universe. As always, reviews are apprciated, especially as I try to develop this story further.

* * *

><p>Back on the Citadel, I'm sitting in the lobby of the C-Sec Academy, patiently waiting to speak with one of the detectives. During the return trip from the Traverse, I'd gone over the contents of the data pads I'd found in the pirate base and found a treasure trove of information: cops on the take, crooked politicians, smuggling networks… and a hit list that includes several prominent citizens of the Citadel.<p>

I have no fucking clue who the Blue Suns are, but if they're going to commit a hit list to writing, it can't be good,

I think, idly watching the hustle and bustle of citizens bringing their complaints to C-Sec. Before too long, a turian clad in black and blue heavy armor, a targeting visor over his left eye, and blue markings on his face walks up to me.

"Ian McLaughlin?" he asks in a business-like tone.

"Yes." I answer, sizing him up out of habit.

"Garrus Vakarian. I was told that you might have some information for me," he says, his statement sounding like a question.

"Yeah, I might," I say, standing up and stretching since I've been sitting for a while.

"Follow me. We'll talk in my office," he answers, leading the way to a small office with a desk that is neat and orderly. "So what have you got?" he asks when he closes the door.

"This data pad," I say handing it over.

Accepting the data pad, he reads it for a moment, his expression going from bored to interested in a hurry. "Where did you get this?" he asks, eyeing me closely.

For a moment, I consider making up some bull about someone leaving it behind at Nebula, but I quickly forget about trying to lie since he'll probably try to verify my story and bullshitting him will probably backfire on me. "I got hired to rescue a hostage from some pirates out on the Verge and I found it after the dust settled."

"You're a merc? I'd have thought you'd be trying to make a living with that music of your's," he answered, satisfied that I'm telling the truth.

"Yeah, well it's damn near impossible to make a living as a musician, especially since I'm just one guy with a guitar, a decent voice, and backing tracks of the songs I know how to play. On the other hand, I was a private investigator and bounty hunter before I got caught in the mass relay and was making a pretty good living at it." I reply with a shrug. "Anyways," I say going back to the subject of the information I've just given him. "I'm not sure if the info on that data pad is going to be admissible in court or not, but it should give you some direction in your investigation."

"I see," he answered. "Well your information will definitely be helpful if it all checks out. Have a good day."

"Thanks. You too," I say, standing and leaving his office. _Wonder how things are going at the club_, I think, getting into a rapid transit shuttle and heading to Nebula. Heading inside, I'm immediately greeted by the sound of what sounds like a drunken Elcor trying to sing Hallowed Be Thy Name. "Forlorn narrative: I'm waiting in my cold cell when the bell begins to chime…" he slurs in his basso monotone.

_Dear God in heaven…_ I think, heading to the bar and ordering a shot of Asari hard liquor. Trying to ignore the painful rendition of the song, I take a seat and wait for Lare to show up from collecting our paycheck from our client. Before too long, though, I've finished my drink and decided to head to my apartment for a moment to pick up my guitar. Returning to the club, I see that no one else is on stage at the moment and immediately head that way, acknowledging the calls of various patrons who have seen me perform before.

_Looks like I'm starting to get a few fans. Maybe I can do music as a side job or something,_ I think as I get set up. Deciding to keep my jacket on so I don't accidentally flash my holstered pistol at the crowd, I crank up the volume and start with Judas Priest's "The Hellion/Electric Eye", letting my stage persona take over: wild, aggressive, and energetic, as if I'm the embodiment of the music itself. Once the song is finished I dive headlong into Iron Maiden's "2 Minutes to Midnight" and follow it with Rob Zombie's "Thunder Kiss '65". At the end of the song I mute my guitar for a moment, and talk to the crowd.

"This next song can be considered a bit ironic given its subject matter. It comes from the 1990 thrash metal album titled 'Rust In Peace'. This song is called 'HANGAR 18'!" Cranking up the volume again, I put everything I've got into the song: head banging in time with the music during the first half of the intro, snarling the lyrics in true thrash metal fashion, and finally interacting with the crowd as I play the final solos.

"And now for one that is pretty much universal. For all the working stiffs out there…" I say, playing "Peace Sells". As the last note fades, I spot Lare and Ka'ira sitting at a table off to the side of the dance floor and pretty close to the stage, watching my performance. At first I want to go over to them so we can talk business, but the crowd starts chanting for an encore. Shrugging, I turn down my guitar so I can retune it to one of the oddest tunings I've ever come across in music: the two lowest strings are tuned up a half step while the remaining four strings are tuned down a half step.

Once my guitar is re-tuned, I address the crowd one more time. "This one's for a good friend of mine…" I say and play the final song of my set: Ozzy Osborne's "Shot in the Dark". When the song's over, the crowd cheers and I exit the stage before I get pulled into another song.

"So that's the music I keep hearing so much about," Ka'ira says as I sit at the table. "It's definitely different than what's usually played."

"That's kind of the point," I answer, ordering a shot of whiskey from a passing waitress. "So how was talking to our client?"

"A pain in the ass," Lare answers, handing me a data pad containing the information needed to transfer the money from the job into my personal account. "He played dumb about the Blue Suns' involvement, of course."

"Yeah, I didn't think he'd own up to not being up front with us," I reply, sitting back in my chair and relaxing a bit. "I'd almost expect him to try to backstab us, but he seems too cowardly to try something like that."

"I agree. It doesn't matter though," Lare says, sipping at her Asari liquor. "A paycheck's a paycheck."

"Yup," Ka'ira says, taking a long swig of her ale. "So, Ian… are you going to be working with us full-time or what?"

"For the time being," I answer, looking at the menu and noticing that Anahe's added the Philly Cheese Steak, I immediately order one. "We make a pretty good team. Lare's good at infiltrating, you're a damn good sniper from what I've heard and read about you, and I'm pretty much a jack of all trades. That makes us pretty versatile as long as we don't have to face down an entire division or something. I might take solo jobs here on the Citadel, though."

"Fair enough. I won't be taking any jobs for a couple months after this last payout," Ka'ira says, stretching in her chair and catching the eye of a nearby Turian. "Well, I think I've found my entertainment for the night," she continues, finishing her drink and standing up. "Play nice you two, and try not to be too rough with him, Lare. I'm sure he'd prefer being able to walk unassisted in the morning."

Quirking an eyebrow at her comment I answer, "Depending on what the night's activities entail, I might be willing to risk it."

Shaking her head in amusement, Ka'ira leaves, making a bee-line for the Turian she'd set her sights on.

"I'm surprised," Lare says. "I've never seen Ka'ira take a liking to someone so quickly. Especially since she's not particularly fond of humans."

"What do you mean?" I ask, taking a bite of my sandwich when it arrives.

"It's mainly because most of the humans we've come across are complete assholes who think they're lords of the galaxy," she answers. "So for her to go from not liking you to the two of you ganging up on me after just one job is pretty unusual."

"Maybe it's my natural charm," I say with a cocky grin.

"Ha, ha, ha," she answers dryly. "I know why. You're one of the first humans to not treat us like we're inferior or like we're hookers."

"Yeah, well I may be a cocky bastard, but I call 'em like I see 'em," I answer. "Besides, I'm damn good at what I do, but either you or Ka'ira could kill me with a thought. Not to mention you're both more highly trained and experienced than I'll ever be. It's pretty conducive to my lifespan to not pick fights where I'm going to get stomped if I can avoid it."

That answer makes her laugh in amusement. "That pretty much sums you up in a nutshell. Yet for all that, I feel like there's more to you than I realize."

"What makes you say that?"

"I've been inside your mind. I know the main reason why you gravitate towards bounty hunting work and your heavy metal music. It's because you're a predator. You thrive on the violence, the danger. You keep a polite exterior, but under the surface, you are constantly thinking of ways to kill everyone around you. What stops you from being a sociopath is that you also feel compassion and won't kill without a good reason."

"You remember all that just from melding with me?" I ask, a bit surprised despite her having told me the effects of a melding before. "I'm impressed. I'm sure you also understand why I typically keep people at arm's length."

"Yes," she answers leaning forward and resting her arms on the table. "Most people fear those like us. We're a reminder of the dangers of life, of those who kill like rabid varren and they'd rather us just be as incapable of violence as they are."

"Until one of those proverbial varren shows up. Then they trample each other trying to hide behind us."

This time her laugh is more cynical than amused. "That's definitely the truth. I suppose it's the same regardless of one's species. The weak fear and resent the strong until the strong are needed. Once the need passes, they go back to resenting us."

"Yeah. C'set la vie," I say, finishing my sandwich and drink before stretching and standing. "So… any plans?" I ask, deliberately changing the subject.

"I can think of a couple, but first what does that phrase you just said mean?"

"It's French. Literally translated it means 'such is life'," I answer. "And what are these plans you're speaking of?"

"I'd like to see if you're willing to live up to that little boast earlier. The one about risking not being able to walk in the morning," she answers a wicked glint in her eye.

Chuckling, I pay the tab and hail a shuttle to her apartment where we turn in for the night, but sleep won't come for several hours until both of us are completely spent and sore. Barely able to move from exhaustion, we all but pass out, not waking until late the next morning.


	8. Chapter 8

DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN MASS EFFECT

_A/N: So, it's been nearly a month since I last updated. I apologize for the long wait. Again, please read and review._

* * *

><p>"So how well does this guy know his weapons?" I ask Lare as we walk though a crowded section of the Wards toward her preferred weapon store, somehow managing to avoid bumping into people in the midday crush as everyone scrambles to get lunch before heading back to work.<p>

"He's been selling them for about ten years and he was a military armorer for thirty years before that," she answers, nearly knocking over a salarian who wasn't looking where he was going.

"Excuse me!" he says rudely, getting belligerent and clearly assuming Lare is a pushover.

She doesn't even waste her breath on him, simply giving him an almost bored look and a brief flare of biotics flashes over her body. For my part, I'm amused since the salarian looks about ready to shit himself as he realizes his mistake.

"Never mind," he says quickly, scrambling to his feet and walking away as fast as he can without running.

Shaking her head, Lare starts to walk again with me in tow.

"So… an armorer, huh?" I ask, getting back to our conversation. "That's always a good sign. It never ceases to amaze me how many trigger-pullers don't know anything about their weapons."

"I know what you mean. Worse is when they decide to 'fix' a weapon that isn't broken," she answers as we turn the corner and spot our destination: a store with a blue neon sign saying "The Arsenal" with a holographic slide show of various weapons running just beneath the neon.

Walking in, I notice the store is living up to its name: rack after rack of carbines, sniper rifles, shotguns, SMGs, and pistols in what look like glass cases which are likely hardened against theft. _Well… this definitely looks promising_, I think as the human minding the counter smiles when he notices us.

"Ah! Hello, Lare. I'll tell Jarar that you're here," he says cheerfully.

"Thanks, Mark," she said as he walked to the back room. "See anything you like?" she asks as I look at the rifles.

"Not yet," I say, pausing to look at a Hahne-Kedar Lancer. Before too long, an older-looking turian with an intricate red pattern on his face walks in from the back of the store, wearing a soiled utility outfit.

"Nice to see you, Lare," he says, his voice gruff-sounding, but friendly in tone. "I see you brought your friend."

"Ian, this is Jarar," she answers, introducing us. "Jarar's pretty much the only person I trust to work on my weapons."

"Nice to meet you," I say, offering to shake hands with the turian.

"Nice to meet you, too. It's not every day I get to meet a minor celebrity," he answers with what I guess is a smile, shaking my hand. _Still having a hard time reading non-human body language. I definitely need more practice._ "So… do you have any idea what you're looking for?"

"Well… first things first," I say, shifting gears to business. "I need something that is reliable and easy to find parts for to use as a base."

"What's your intended role for the gun?" he asks, his tone turning businesslike as well.

"I'm looking for a general purpose carbine. Something that's compact enough to be useful in tight corridors but still capable of making hits out to seven hundred meters or so. I'm not expecting sniper rifle accuracy, but something I can use for extended ranges if needed," I answer, knowing that kind of performance is more than possible, even with 20th and 21st century tech. _It's just a matter of cost._

"That shouldn't be too hard. What's your budget?"

"Ideally, I'd like to spend no more than four thousand credits, after everything's said and done."

"I see. Well, let's start with this…" he says as he walks over to the racks, picks up a rifle with a blue and black finish, and hands it to me, the muzzle not once sweeping anyone. "This is a Banshee II. It's made by Elanus Risk Control Services or ERCS. It's pretty common among security and mercenary organizations."

Accepting the rifle, I shoulder it and aim it at a blank spot in the wall, getting a feel for its weight and balance. "Not bad. Light, but still has a bit of heft to deal with recoil. Balance is pretty close to ideal." Lowering the rifle I look at the controls. "Ok, it has a safety, but from the symbols it looks like it only fires on full auto."

"That's right. Six hundred rounds per minute."

"I see," I answer, not really being a particular fan of fully automatic fire in a rifle. "Is it possible to have a semi-auto function added?" I ask, setting the rifle on the counter.

"Certainly," he says, taking down the information on his omni-tool. "Are there any other mods you'd like me to do?"

"Yeah, but first I'd like to test fire this rifle before I commit to buying it," I answer, realizing I'd gotten ahead of myself.

"Of course. This way, please," he says, picking up the rifle as he leads us to a range in the back of the store. Setting the rifle on the line, he puts on eye and hearing protection and motions for us to do the same.

Safety equipment in place, I step up to the line, shoulder the rifle, and aim at the target fifty meters downrange. Settling into an aggressive stance to help control the recoil of the gun, I flick the selector to "fire" and squeeze off several bursts. _The recoil isn't as harsh as I thought it would be, but it's still more stout than an M16, _I think, putting the rifle back on safe.

"That's some of the better shooting I've seen," Jarar says, looking at my target, full of tightly-knit holes in the torso area with a couple groupings of holes in the head to match. "You definitely know what you're doing. So, what do you think?"

"I'll take it," I answer, setting the rifle down on the bench and stepping away from the line. "I would like some additional mods made to it, though."

"What would you like to have done?" he asks as we head back into the store area.

"As I said, I definitely want a semi auto capability added while retaining full auto function. I'd also like sling attachment points, a white light, and back up iron sights," I answer, going through my laundry list of what I feel are necessary items to have on a combat rifle. "If it's possible, an adjustable stock would be nice, but it's not a requirement."

"The semi auto and light make sense," he says, taking down my list. "So does the stock. But why would you want a sling and iron sights? The rifle folds up and attaches directly to your armor and I've yet to see a scope break on one of these rifles."

"The sling is in case I need to transition to my pistol. It's a hell of a lot faster to use a sling than it is to fold up a rifle, stow it, draw a pistol, aim, and fire," I answer. "As for the scopes not breaking, I'd just as soon have irons on my rifle because with my luck, Murphy will show his ugly face."

"Who's Murphy?" Lare asks.

"It's a reference to a saying called 'Murphy's Law'. 'If it can go wrong, it WILL go wrong'," I explain. "Anyways, even if the scope never breaks, it's better to have backup sights and not need them than to need them and not have them."

"Makes sense, I guess," Jarar says. "Anything else?"

"That should do it, I think…" I answer, my voice trailing off as I spot a series of small pistols in the display case. My curiosity piqued, I walk over and take a closer look. "Mind if I take a look at one of those holdouts?"

"Certainly," he says, unlocking the case. "Which one?"

"Third from my left, second shelf." I answer, indicating a pistol that looks kind of like a blockier version of the Walther PPK.

Taking the pistol out of the case, he hands it to me grip first. "This is pretty popular. I've sold quite a few of them."

Accepting the pistol, I aim it at one-handed at the same blank spot on the wall I'd used earlier, making sure to keep my finger well away from the trigger. The first thing I notice is a complete lack of sights. "What's with the lack of sights?" I ask, suspecting the answer.

"The designers of the gun intended it to be used at close range. Point shooting."

"I see," I answer, my suspicions confirmed. "Well, I'd like to try it out on the range."

"I figured you would," he says, setting the rifle on the shelf behind the display case and taking the pistol back as we head back to the range. Once everyone's wearing protective gear, I hold the pistol in a one-handed grip and to my best to aim, using the top of the gun as my reference point.

Squeezing the trigger, I get a nasty surprise: the gun's muzzle blast is almost tooth-rattling and the recoil is so sharp, it feels as if I just slammed my hand in a car door. _Holy fucking shit, that hurt._ Doing my best to ignore the stinging in my hand, I wrap my left hand around my right, locking my thumb against my wrist to help anchor the gun and hopefully mitigate some of the recoil. Aiming the gun again, I smoothly squeeze the trigger, and my hand almost goes numb from the recoil. "Holy fuck-balls," I say, setting the gun down and shaking out my hand, trying to get some feeling back into it. "I doubt the people who buy this thing actually shoot it first."

"You're right," Jarar comments, taking the gun off of the firing line. "It's powerful enough to pierce armor, but you've only got two shots before it overheats plus the harsh recoil, as you just learned."

"Who's fucking bright idea was it to have a pocket gun that kicks harder than my rifle?" I ask heatedly, venting my frustration.

"Some cop from Earth came up with the concept and sold it to Rosenkov Materials a couple years back. I can't remember his name, but he wanted something he could carry when he was in deep cover, from what I've heard."

"I see. Can you modify the gun so it doesn't recoil as hard and can fire more than just two shots before overheating?" I ask, making a mental note to send a letter to Rosenkov strongly recommending similar mods to what I have in mind, if they work.

"Certainly, but you'll lose armor piercing ability. Even the wounding effect on an unarmored opponent will be less than ideal," he answers.

"Well it's either that or run the risk of permanent nerve damage and having an overheated weapon if I have to fire more than once," I retort, a bit testy over how badly the manufacturer fucked up a simple concept.

"I know what you mean," he replies, sympathizing with my position. "I also assume you want me to add sights to it?"

"Yeah. I know they meant for the gun to be used as close range, but even at close range you still need to aim," I answer, speaking from experience. "I'll also need an ankle rig for it."

"Alright," he says, using his omni-tool to tally up the charges. "So, the total for everything, including the custom work, is forty-two hundred credits."

"That sounds reasonable, considering how much I'm asking you to do," I answer, using my omni-tool to make the payment.

"It'll be an hour or so while I make the mods on your guns. You can come back later, if you want," he says, taking the guns back to his workshop.

"How is your hand, Ian?" Lare asks, her voice holding a note of concern.

"Hurts like a bastard," I answer, massaging it. "I'd love to know the name of the cop who came up with that gun. That way I'd know who to kick in the nuts."

"I wouldn't be so harsh. After all, he DID design the gun you just bought," she counters in a teasing tone.

"True. I do know I'll be sending Rosenkov a letter detailing how fucked-up the current itineration of their gun is and recommending mods similar to what I'm having done to my pistol," I answer, calming down a bit. "That gives me an idea, actually."

"What? Are you going to make your own guns?" she asks, a bit sarcastically.

"Depending on if there's a market for obsolete firearms, I might make a few examples of the more famous firearms in human history. Probably just wishful thinking on my part, though."

"A better idea would be to focus on merc jobs," she answers. "Why don't we grab a bite to eat?" she asks, changing the subject and using one of the phrases she's picked up from me in the last few months.

"Sounds good to me," I answer. "Is there any place in particular that have in mind?"

"I know a diner just around the corner from here. Let's go."

Leaving the Arsenal, we walk through the corridor, the congestion not as bad as before since everyone seems to be back at work. Turning the corner, we come across what looks like a family-run restaurant with a bar. Stepping inside, I see they obviously cater to the asari judging from the clientele and the décor. The lighting is soothing, a warm yellow-orange near the bar while the main dining area's lighting has a cooler, bluish hue. The tables themselves have a faintly organic look to them with smooth, flowing lines being the dominant feature. As we seat ourselves, we're greeted with the mouthwatering smell of roasting meat and vegetables wafting from the kitchen.

"Hey, Lare!" a slightly older-looking asari clad in a red sleeveless shirt, a pair of white trousers, and red open-toed heels says as she walks over and sets a pair of glasses of ice water on our table, data pad in hand.

Looking over at our hostess, Lare gives her a smile. "How're you doing?"

"Meh, some days are good. Other times, I almost finding myself wishing for my maiden days," she answers, pulling up a chair and sitting down. Turning to me, she smiles a bit wider. "You must be Ian. Lare's told me quite a bit about you," she says, an amused glint in her eyes.

"I can neither confirm nor deny anything that Lare may or may not have said about me," I quip, not knowing what Lare has told her about me.

"Well, she did say you were a bit of a joker," the asari answers. "She mentioned a few other things as well. Ah! Where are my manners? I'm Saphala."

"Ian McLaughlin," I answer.

"Saphala is one of the people who helped train me," Lare explains, sitting back in her chair.

"That's putting it mildly," Saphala comments. "Considering you were my protégé until I retired, and all."

"You were a huntress?" I ask, a bit surprised that I didn't read it in her movements as I had when I met Lare.

"For about two hundred years, give or take," she says. "I'm actually surprised I survived some of the things I did."

"I hear you. I was only an active Marine for five years but I did plenty of stupid shit in that short time frame," I answer.

"We'll have to trade stories some time. I've got plenty about Lare as well as myself," she answers, a playful glint in her eyes. "So what'll you have?"

"I'll have my usual," Lare says, looking slightly embarrassed at the mention of stories being told about her.

"Alright," Saphala answers, making notes on her data pad. "How about you, Ian?"

"Honestly, I've never had asari cuisine before, so I have no clue what to order," I answer, a bit uncomfortable at the prospect of eating food from another species.

"I see. Well we're serving a seafood stew today. It's pretty popular with our human clientele," she offers.

"Alright, I guess I'll give it a try," I answer. "Do you have hot tea?"

"Yes we do."

"I'll take a cup of that as well, please."

"Alright, I'll have your drinks in a moment and your food in a few minutes," she says, standing and heading back to the kitchen area. A minute or so later she returns with my tea and what looks and smells like a kind of fruit juice for Lare. "Here you go," she says, sitting back down. "So, Ian…" she begins. "I've heard you're a man of many talents."

"You mean outside of me being a pain in the ass?" I answer, sipping at my tea.

"Obviously," she replies. "Lare told me about how well you did on Sharjila. I also heard about that little bar fight you got into a few months back. It's pretty impressive, but I'm having a hard time believing the krogan bit."

"I'm telling you like I told Ka'ira," Lare said, sounding a bit irritated. "I saw him take down a krogan hand-to-hand with my own eyes."

"I believe you, Lare," Saphala answers. "But you have to admit it does sound farfetched."

"Hey, I'll be the first to admit I got lucky with that one," I comment. "I'm definitely not in any hurry to start round two."

"Oh, so you do have a sense of self-preservation," she answers. "From some of the stories Lare's told me, it's a wonder you can even walk under your own power," she continues, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"Yeah, well what's life without a little risk?" I answer. "Besides," I continue, knowing I'm going to be pushing my luck. "Depending on the circumstances, I wouldn't complain about having to stay in bed." Sure enough, I catch a biotic slap on the back of the head.

"Have I told you lately how much of a pain in the ass you are, Ian?" Lare asks, taking a drink of her juice.

"Admit it, if I weren't a pain, you'd be bored," I answer, with a grin.

"True, but sometimes you really push it," she replies, her voice a mix of amusement and irritation.

"I know. That's what makes it fun," I counter cockily.

"You two bicker like you're already bond-mates," Saphala observes in amusement before standing. "Your food should be ready now. I'll be back in a moment," she says, heading to the counter to get our food.

"You really are a wise-ass, you know that?" Lare says, shaking her head over Saphala's comment.

"It's one of my more endearing qualities, I know," I quip, enjoying pushing her buttons. _It's almost like teasing a cat. I know I'm going to get scratched, but it's worth it._

"Alright. Here you go," Saphala says when she returns with our food. Lare's dish looks like some sort of fowl in a honey glaze with a side of exotic-looking purple, green, and red vegetables. My own dish is a bowl of stew that looks like a mix between chili and clam chowder, except it's a pale yellow color from what I guess are the spices and broth used.

"Wow… this smells delicious," I say, picking up my spoon and taking a small bite. Immediately I recoil because the stew is steaming hot and I reach for my water to soothe my newly-burnt tongue.

Snickering at my pratfall, Lare digs into her meal.

"You alright?" Saphala asks, trying not to laugh at the "way to go, dumbass" expression that I know is on my face over my mistake.

"I'm fine. Just Fate deciding to screw with me a bit for being a wise-ass," I answer. Taking spoonful of my stew, I blow on it before taking the bite. "This is damn good. I might have to lift the recipe from the cook."

Arching an eyebrow, Saphala says, "I'd like to see you try. I could use the work out."

"Maybe I can find another way," I answer, knowing damn well I'd lose that exchange.

"Good answer," Saphala says. "Besides, all the ingredients contain high amounts of eezo, so you'd have to learn how to specially prepare the food so you don't end up higher than you'd be on a red sand trip."

"I see," I answer, taking another drink of water. "Still, this is very delicious."

"Thank you. Well, I'll leave the two of you to your meal. It was nice meeting you, Ian. Take care, Lare," she says as she walks away.

Over the next few minutes, Lare and I enjoy our meal, talking about minor subjects, mainly the stupidity of the typical person.

"I'll quote George Carlin, a human comedian, on this subject," I begin. "'Think about how stupid the average person is, and then realize that half of 'em are stupider than that.'"

"Very astute," Lare says with a laugh. Checking the time on her omni-tool, she continues, "Well, Jarar should be done with your weapons now. Let's get the tab and head back."

As we walk back into the Arsenal, Jarar greets us from behind the counter. "Good timing. I just finished my work," he says with pride.

Stepping up to the counter, I inspect the rifle first: the stock adjusts easily, but is solid when I lock it into place. The sling swivels are exactly where I need them to be, the light is easily activated and is more than bright enough for my needs. The iron sights are the biggest surprise: the rear sight is an H&K style drum aperture with a hooded front post identical to the setup on my HK91. "Where did you come across these iron sights?" I ask, impressed that he'd not only used a human design, but one that I'm the most fond of.

"I had to manufacture them," he answered. "I found the designs on the extranet and they appeared to be more rugged and easy to use compared to the other designs I found."

"I see," I answer, tripping the weapon's folding mechanism and storing it on my back. Turning to the holdout, I pick it up, immediately noticing the small, but usable sights that were added. The gun also looks like its edges have been rounded slightly to aid in concealment. "Mind if I take it on the range?"

"I'd almost be insulted if you didn't," he answers grabbing his eye and hearing protection. Grabbing my own safety equipment, I follow him onto the range. Once we're set up, I hold the pistol in a one-handed "duelist" grip and squeeze of a shot. Immediately, I notice a difference in the recoil: still a bit sharp, but far more manageable than before.

"How many shots did you manage to set this up for?" I ask, lowering the gun for a moment.

"It's good for seven shots before it overheats. The heat sinks will take a while to cool if that happens, though. About ninety seconds to two minutes before it'll fire again," he replies.

"Well, you can't have everything," I answer, satisfied nonetheless. Raising the gun again, I fire a triple-tap at the target and the grouping isn't bad, considering the kind of gun I'm shooting: two and a half inches at fifteen meters. "This should be more than acceptable for a backup," I comment, as I leave the range, removing my eye and ear protection.

"I'm glad you're happy," he answers. "I must admit, it was interesting working on this project."

"In that case, I'll probably be back with more work for you later on," I answer as I strap the ankle holster to the inside of my left ankle, holster the pistol, and pull my pant leg over the gun to conceal it. "Thanks again," I say, walking to the door.

"No problem. Come back any time," he says, heading back to his workshop.

"So… any more plans for the day?" I ask Lare as we head for a rapid transit kiosk.

"Actually, I've got some personal business to attend to," she says as we get into the automated taxi. "If it works out, we may have a more steady source of income."

"Fair enough," I answer, stretching my arms in front of me and hearing my shoulder blades pop from the movement. "In the meantime, I think I'll see if I can find some easy bounty heads to catch here on the Citadel. Might as well stay busy in between bigger jobs."

"Sounds good to me," she replies as the cab stops at her destination. "See you later," she says, giving me a chaste kiss on the lips before getting out of the taxi.

About ten minutes of riding later, I'm in at the C-Sec Academy, looking at some of the active wanted posters. _Looks like a bunch of nickel and dime shit,_ I think, seeing a lot of people who skipped bail on minor offenses such as drunk and disorderly. _Talk about small fries. Some of them would cost me more to bring in than their bounties are worth._

About ready to say "fuck it" and find a contract somewhere, I spot a poster for a salarian who skipped on charges of drug dealing and multiple counts of felonious assault. _This one looks worthwhile. Bounty's fifty thousand and he shouldn't be too hard to find. "Last known whereabouts: Chora's Den."_

Smiling in anticipation of the coming chase, I hop into the elevator and head down into the lower section of the Wards, making my way into the seedy nightclub. Immediately, I'm assaulted with the familiar stench of cheap alcohol and what passes for tobacco on the station. _Or it's probably something akin to weed_, I think as I walk into the club, making sure my gun hand stays free and putting on my best "don't fuck with me, I won't fuck with you" face.

Walking up to the bar like I'm the baddest motherfucker on the station, I order a shot of liquor. "I'm looking for someone," I say to the bartender, an older human with grey hair and a grizzled beard, his build suggesting he was probably a steroid case once upon a time, but age caught up to him and wasn't kind.

"You a cop?" he asks gruffly.

"Do I look like a fucking cop to you, chuckles?" I snarl at him. "What part of me says 'cop'?"

"Hey assh-URKH-" he exclaims as my hand darts out and grabs him by the trachea, applying enough pressure to choke, but not cause permanent damage.

"What was that? I can't hear you," I reply with a sneer. Spotting movement out of the corner of my eye, I draw my P30 from my shoulder rig and aim it right at the human bouncer who tried advancing on me. "Try it, and I'll let your brains see the light of day. Hell, it might improve the stench in here." Seeing that the bartender is nearly passed out, I relax my grip on him, but I don't let him go all the way. Meanwhile the bouncer slowly backs away, keeping his hands in sight.

Lowering my gun but not holstering it, I go back to the bartender. "Now… let's try this again. I'm looking for someone. A salarian who skipped bail for drug running and assault. Goes by the name of Onak, among others." Seeing a flash of recognition in his eyes, I smile predatorily. "Ah, you know who I'm talking about. Where is he?"

"I don't-ACK-" he tries to say, but a sharp squeeze of his trachea interrupts him.

"I've been patient thus far," I growl angrily. "Try to bullshit me again, and I'll rip your fucking throat out. Are we clear?"

Unable to speak, he nods as best as he can and I release my grip. "Alright, alright, I'll talk," he rasps. "You just missed him; left ten minutes ago for the docks."

"Any idea where he's headed?" I ask, reigning in my temper, but giving him a look that clearly says I'll follow through on my threat if he isn't straight with me.

"I don't know," he says. "WAIT! Wait, I really don't know!" he exclaims as I start to raise my pistol. "As far as I can tell, he's going to ground. You bounty hunters aren't the only ones he's worried about." he says quickly, clearly thinking I'm going to kill him.

_Fucking coward. I'm only two-thirds his size, but he's acting like I'm a krogan who's about to fly into a blood rage,_ I think in disgust. Satisfied he's telling me the truth, I drink my shot of liquor and back away from the bar, keeping an eye on the patrons as I make my way to the door. Once I'm outside, I holster my pistol and take a breath, shaking off the aggressiveness I'd allowed to reign. _It's amazing what a bit of craziness mixed with sheer balls will let you get away with. And if Onak's got any brains, his ass is probably off the station by now. _

Deciding to walk for a bit before heading home to figure out my next move, I head into an alleyway that connects Chora's Den with the Wards Access tunnel to the Presidium.

"Hey pal, spare a few creds?" a street youth, maybe not much older than eighteen years old, dressed in old threadbare jumpsuit and a ratty leather jacket asks, walking over to me fairly quickly.

"Sorry, kid," I answer, sidestepping around him. As I pass, I hear the sound of a weapon unfolding. _Fuck_, I think, slowly turning with my hands in plain sight.

"How about now?" he asks smugly, holding the gun sideways and pointing it at my face.

"You've got my attention," I answer calmly, not wanting to spook this kid.

"Good," he says, reaching into my jacket, ripping my P30 from its holster, taking my rifle off of my back, and finding my tanto at the small of my back. Stuffing it into his waistband he motions for me to move down the corridor. "You're going to be my ticket to the big time," he boasts, clearly thinking I'm subdued.

_Amateur. Maybe I can get him talking,_ I think, waiting for him to give me an opening. "What do you mean, 'ticket to the big time'?" I ask.

His answer is to club me in the back of my head with his pistol, making stars explode behind my eyes and sending me to my hands and knees. "Ya fucked with the wrong people. The Suns got seventy thousand on your head, plus membership."

"Only seventy-k?" I ask, trying to keep this kid off balance. "I'm insulted. I should be worth at least one-thirty."

That bit earns me a kick to the jewels, followed by two more to my ribs and back. _Ok… I'm going to really fuck this kid up,_ I think as I struggle back to my feet.

"Gonna shut the fuck up now?" he demands, trying to act like a tough guy.

Not saying a word, I keep my hands in plain sight as I follow his instructions. When we get out into the crowd in the markets, he stays close to me, hiding his pistol from sight with his body. _How the fuck do I get out of this?_ I ask myself, trying to find a way to get to my holdout without getting shot. A couple minutes later, I spot my chance: a public restroom. _Now or never,_ I think. "Hey… I had a few drinks at Chora's Den," I start, knowing he can smell the booze and smoke on me.

"What's your point?" he asks testily, keeping his voice low.

"Well I haven't used the head in a while so, how about it?" I ask, trying to come across as sheepish and submissive. _Please be as stupid as I think you are_, I think, doing my damnedest to keep my expression from betraying my thoughts.

"No, no fucking way. You're holding it," he says, sounding like he doesn't know what to do.

"C'mon, man. You gonna shoot a guy who has to take a piss? Hell, you can watch if you want," I continue, deciding to force the issue by walking towards the restroom.

"No, you ain't fuckin' goin'," he repeats, nearly flashing his gun to the crowd.

"Look, you think I'm in a hurry to die?" I ask, keeping my voice low, but letting a thread of fear slip through. "I swear to you, I won't cause any trouble, but please; I'm begging you: don't make me piss my pants."

"Alright, alright," he says. "Let's go." Nudging me with the barrel of his pistol, he herds me toward the restroom. Once inside, he actually lets me go into a stall and shut the door.

_That'll be the last mistake you make, motherfucker,_ I think as I do what I'd asked permission to do and take the opportunity while I'm out of his direct sight to draw my holdout from the ankle rig and conceal it against my leg. Opening the stall, I say, "Hey thanks again, man."

"Whatever," he says, not really paying much attention.

Without any warning, I raise my gun to waist-level and fire. My shot takes him in the gut, more specifically the liver judging from the black blood flowing from the wound. Working quickly, I recover my weapons and get ready to leave.

"Hey, wait," my would-be kidnapper rasps, his voice thin from the pain.

Pausing, I look down at him, not even bothering to say a word to him.

"Please… It wasn't personal, man. Just get me a doctor." he manages to gasp between pained breaths. "It hurts…"

"You want me to do something about the pain?" I ask calmly, almost kindly.

"Please…"

"All right," I say with shrug, coolly raising my pistol and firing another round into his head, blood and brain matter splattering over the tile. Immediately stashing my weapons, I decide to let him keep his pistol in his hand, figuring it'll give the investigators something to chase while I make myself scarce, locking the door behind me. _With any luck, it'll be a while before any one notices anything is amiss_, I think as I climb into a rapid transit cab and take it to my apartment.


	9. Chapter 9

DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN MASS EFFECT

_A/N: So it's been a while since my last update. Fickle muses and a busy-ass schedule play hell with my writing. Please read and review. And I've said this to reviewers before, but allow me to make this clear: this is not an SI fic. Just because I'm writing from first person point of view doesn't mean Ian is "me"._

* * *

><p><em>What is it with informants and dive bars?<em> I think as I walk through a section of slums in the lower levels of the Wards. _Of course the more important question is: how the _hell_ did some random informant get my contact information?_ Trying my best to ignore the stench of garbage and decay, I pause for a moment to get my bearings as I double-check the directions on my Omni-tool.

Staying alert, I continue on, making sure my gun hand is free in case someone else tries for the bounty on my head. _I still can't believe I let that kid get the drop on me like that,_ I think as I turn a corner and head down a stairwell to my destination: a decrepit, run-down building nestled at the base of a skyscraper that looks like it had been abandoned centuries ago.

Taking a breath to quiet that niggling voice that's telling me how bad an idea it is to go into a building that looks like demo-bait, I step inside. After taking a moment to let my eyes adjust to the dingy, shadow-filled interior of the cantina, I take a seat in a booth near the back, near the kitchens which allows me to see almost the entire room and gives me a possible escape route through out the back door in case this meeting goes tits-up.

After a couple minutes, the waitress, a female Turian with blue scar-distorted facial markings walks up to my table. Giving me a look of pure disdain, she pulls an old, beat-up data pad from a slightly frayed pocket on her worn, beverage-stained apron and just stands there.

Understanding that she wants to take my order, but only because she's required to, I order an ale, being polite in attempt to disarm her standoffish demeanor. However, she turns on her heel with an almost military stiffness and walks away. _Ok… maybe I should scan my drink to make sure she doesn't poison me or something_, I think, knowing that I'm being paranoid… but since there are people who are after me, a bit of paranoia probably will keep my scrawny ass alive.

While the waitress is away, I take a look around the room, noticing a few lurkers of various species watching me like I'm a possible mark.I also notice that I'm the only human in the cantina. _Holy shit, how did I not notice this when I came in? _I berate myself, making eye contact with each of the other patrons, my expression showing that I'm not an easy target and it would be best for them if they leave me be.

"Ian McLaughlin?" a gravelly voice asks from behind me.

"Who's asking?" I counter, my tone not betraying the fact that I'm inwardly kicking myself for overly fixating on the obvious potential threats in the room and not paying attention to anything else._ Just what the hell is with me lately? Am I losing my edge or what?_

"Funny. I thought you'd be taller," the voice answers sarcastically.

Turning to face the owner of the voice, a rail-thin weasel of a man dressed in a kind of trench coat, I say, "You the one who contacted me?"

"I am," he answers oily, moving to take a seat directly across from me.

"Care to tell me why the fuck you asked me to come to this charming establishment?" I ask just as the waitress returns with my ale, the glass being the smallest in the room; a not-so-subtle hint that I'm not welcome.

"What? No chit-chat?" he asks in return, clearly thinking he's hot shit.

Giving him a look that threatens violence if he doesn't knock his bullshit off, I wait for him to answer my question.

"Well someone doesn't have a sense of humor," he half whines. "Fine then. I got information on Onak."

"Really?" I ask, looking at my ale and subtly scanning it with my Omni-tool and not finding any toxins. "You going to tell me or waste more of my time?"

"Not until you say the magic words," he counters, clearly enjoying getting on my nerves.

"How do the words 'before I blow your kneecaps apart' grab you?" I ask nonchalantly, drinking my miniature-sized ale in one gulp.

"You won't do anything. You do, you don't get your information," he says smugly.

"Care to wager your ability to walk for the rest of your life on that?" Giving him a smile that almost dares him to call my bluff.

"All right, all right. Lighten up, will ya?" he says, cutting the bullshit. "I don't have the information myself, but my boss does."

"Really…" I say, pissed-off that I'm going to be dragged around some more. "So where and when do I meet your boss?"

"Just go to the Presidium Lounge. My boss'll find you there."

Getting up without a word, I pay for my drink and beat feet, heading to the nearest transit booth. Climbing into the cab, I go over my seemingly poor situational awareness of late. _First that kid a couple days ago, then the bar patrons, and now an informant manages to sneak up on me. I really need to pull my head out of my ass before I get it blown off._ Arriving a half hour later at the Presidium Lounge, I take a seat at the bar, this time making sure I'm aware of the slightest detail of the area.

"Can I get you something?" the bartender, a human with dark hair and an average build asks pleasantly.

"No, thanks. I'm waiting for someone," I answer politely.

"It's not that reporter al-Jiliani, is it? I'm only asking because she has a tendancy to get punched in the face by her interviewees and I'd prefer it if she didn't get punched while here. It tends to hurt business."

"I doubt she wants to risk getting bull-rushed on a live broadcast for a second time," I answer, remembering the last time I was here.

"I hear ya. That was pretty good on your part, not falling for her game," he says, wiping down the bar.

"Believe me, I was tempted to introduce my knuckles to her jaw, but why give her the satisfaction? Besides, by attacking her credibility, I do more damage to her than a punch ever could," I reply, enjoying the banter as I notice an elegant-looking middle-aged woman walking over to me.

"Ian McLaughlin?" she asks pleasantly.

"Yes, that's me," I answer politely.

"My name is Helena Blake. I was told by one of my employees that you wished to speak with me regarding a business venture," she says, her tone friendly but business-like.

_Huh? What business venture? _I think, caught off-guard, making me hesitate for a brief moment before answering. "Ah… yes, I did." _Might as well play along and see where this leads._

"If you like, we can discuss it at my office. If you'll follow me," she says, apparently amused that she caught me off-guard.

As we walk though the shining white elegance of the Presidium, she asks, "Aren't you curious as to what the business venture is?"

"I figure you'll tell me soon enough," I answer, still trying to figure out what's going on.

"To put it bluntly, I know you're looking for Onak and have information on his whereabouts," she says matter-of-factly.

"You have my attention," I answer, figuring out that she's the informant's boss and kicking myself for the massive brain fart. _Dear God,_ j_ust what the fuck is wrong with me_ today? I ask myself yet again

"Good," she says, hailing a transit cab and getting inside. When I join her, she continues. "Before we go on, I have to ask; did you really have to threaten Martin?"

"If Martin is the informant who was spending more time being smug and thinking that he's tough just because he's an organized crime flunky than he did actually passing on your message, then yes it was nessesary," I answer.

"He does have a tendency to waste peoples' time when he doesn't work for them," she concedes. "However, he does work for me and is useful at times so I'd appreciate it if you didn't cripple him."

"Fair enough. So… what's this about Onak?" I ask, getting back to the subject at hand.

"Onak used to work for me, but he decided that he'd rather steal from me and try to undermine my operation," she answers, her tone sounding like she's talking about her company's stock dropping twenty points on the galactic exchange instead of being betrayed by a member of her organization. "I'll tell you where he is. I'll even arrange transport for you. I only ask one thing in return."

"I'm not an assassin, Ms. Blake," I say immediately, not wanting to go down that path.

"I didn't think you were," she answers, looking a bit offended by my assumption. "I merely wish for you to bring my wayward employee to me so that he and I can discuss the error of his ways."

"I see. The info and the ride are much appreciated, but what about the bounty? It's not like C-Sec is going to pay me for dropping him off at your doorstep," I answer, considering her offer, and not feeling the least bit sorry for Onak if she gets ahold of him.

"Naturally, you'll be rewarded. I'll pay you double the standing bounty on his head, should you do this for me."

_Let's see… free ride to where the target's hiding and a bigger payday? Quite the offer,_ I think. "What about legal exposure?"

"I have excellent legal representation and unlike many of my rivals, I do take care of those who do me favors such as this, but I doubt it'll be nessesary. However, if something does happen, then you'll have to remain in my employ until your debt is paid."

"Fair enough. Where is he?" I ask, figuring it's worth the risk.

"I don't have his exact location, but I do know he's on Omega, working for one of the mercenary groups there," she says as the cab stops at her building and we get out. Going into her office, she motions for me to take a seat at her desk as she pulls up the information on her computer. Transferring the info onto a data pad, she hands it to me and continues. "When you arrive, make sure you speak with Aria T'Loak."

Accepting the data pad, I answer, "Who's that?"

"For lack of a better term, she's the Queen of Omega. Whatever goes on there, she knows about it or is involved with it. Since Onak isn't part of her organization, I doubt she'll interfere with you, but don't count on her assisting you either."

"So basically I'm going to tell her I'm in the area and will be doing my best to stay the hell out of her way?" I ask, having had similar experiences chasing bounty heads into mobster territories back on Earth and having to make nice with the local bosses to avoid getting shot in the face.

"Essentially. One more thing: the Blue Suns have a very strong presence on Omega."

"I'll remember to leave them a cyanide and arsenic fruit basket while I'm there," I almost spit venomously at the mention of the Suns.

"Just try not to cause too much of a mess while you're on Omega," she sighs. "It's a focal point for a some of my business ventures and I don't want to lose my contacts there."

"I'll play nice if they will," I answer. "When do I leave?"

"Your transport is scheduled to leave in eight hours."

"Well I'd better get going, then," I say as I stand and head for the door.

"Good luck," she says as I leave.

Hailing a cab yet again, I go to my apartment, pack some spare clothes and my armor, grab my weapons, and head for the docks, immediately finding the transport: what looks like a light freighter modified with defensive weaponry. Stepping up to the airlock, I'm stopped by a dark-haired man with a thick five o'clock shadow smoking a cigarette.

"You lost pal?" he asks, taking a long drag from his smoke.

"Name's McLaughlin. I was hired by Ms. Blake to pick up a package on your trip," I answer.

"So you're the bounty hunter," he says, sizing me up. Shrugging, he crushes out his cigarette, and says "Get on board. Sooner you get settled, the sooner we can leave."

Settling into my cabin, which barely has enough room for a bunk and the two cases I'd brought my items in, I check the extranet for any messages and I find one from Lare asking me to call her. _I wonder what she wants,_ I think, opening a com link with her.

"Hey, Ian," she says. "Where are you? I tried to reach you at your apartment."

"I'm actually on a ship getting ready to head for Omega," I answer.

"I take it you're still chasing that bounty head?"

"Yeah. I finally got a lead on that slippery bastard," I say. "What's up?"

"I managed to find us a permanent employer," she answers. "I can't talk details right now, though so I'll see you when you get back."

"Wait a minute," I say abruptly. "What's this 'permanent employer' bit? I thought we were going to stay freelance and that you were scouting longer term contracts than what we've taken in the past."

"I know you like being freelance, but you have to think here, Ian," she says, a bit miffed at my reaction. "It'll give us better financial security."

"True. But it also limits our options on future jobs," I counter. "Besides that, it's a bit presumptuous that you'd go and hire us out for a permanent job without talking to me first."

"Well what's done is done. We'll talk about it when you get back," she says, her voice cooler than I've heard before as she cuts the connection.

_Well that could have gone better,_ I think as I feel the ship leaving dock and heading for Omega. _Deal with it later, Ian. Just focus on the job at hand._ Taking out the data pad, I start to read about my target, starting to think of how I'm going to drag him back to the Citadel in one piece without getting killed or arrested.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Another month, another chapter. I'm hoping things will start picking up from here._

* * *

><p><em>Holy Mary, Mother of God this place reeks to high heaven,<em> I think as I step off the boarding ramp of the transport and onto the dock of Omega. Looking around at the rusted, decaying hulk around me, I adjust the short leather jacket I'm wearing to help conceal the knife at the small of my back; my P30 is concealed in an inside-the-waistband holster at eleven o'clock in front of my left hip underneath a slate grey long-sleeved shirt with my back-up gun at home on my ankle. My usual black boots and cargo pants complete my outfit. Making sure to stay on high alert to avoid being ambushed, I head from the docks towards the club Afterlife.

About fifteen minutes later, I'm standing in front of Afterlife: a large, cone-shaped tower trimmed in orange neon with flames and a large holographic sign with the club's name over the entrance. _Must be a popular spot,_ I think as I notice the long line of people from nearly every species waiting for entrance, held back by an elcor bouncer. _He looks like he could do some serious damage,_ I think, looking at the size of the alien. Although he walks around on all fours, he's at least a foot taller at the shoulder than I am and is moving in a manner that suggests he more than knows how to handle himself in a fight.

Just as I add him to my "don't fuck with" list, a trio of four-eyed batarians show up, their body language suggesting they're looking for trouble. "This should be good," a large, armored, and battle-scarred krogan near me says with a snicker.

"Twenty creds says that elcor kicks their asses," I comment.

"Sucker's bet, unless you want to make the bet on how long it takes," he counters, turning towards me.

"Forty seconds," I answer, looking the large, lizard-like alien in the eyes.

"I've seen that elcor fight. I give it thirty before they quit and run like a scalded varren," he says, with a smirk.

"You've got a bet," I say, bringing up my omni-tool and getting a stopwatch ready just as the batarians pick their fight with the elcor. This far away from the entrance, I can't hear the verbal exchange, but it's not long before the conversation gets animated and the batarians draw knives they'd had concealed. Starting the timer with their first attack, I watch the fight unfold.

The first batarian darts in and swings wildly with his knife; a wicked-looking sinuous blade. His attack fails miserably as the elcor catches his forearm mid-swipe and literally rips it off at the elbow. As the now-crippled batarian falls away, screaming and holding the ragged stump of what remains of his arm, his buddies rush in. They don't last long either as the bouncer caves in the skull of one with a single blow and the other is flung against a bulkhead, his neck snapping from the impact and his lifeless corpse crumples limply to the deck.

Checking my omni-tool, I see the whole thing took about twenty-seven seconds. "Hah! Pay up, human," the krogan says, reading my omni-tool's display.

Sighing, I reach into my pocket and pull out twenty credits, handing them over. "Well at least it was entertaining for a moment."

"Shame it wasn't more of a fight. It would have livened things up a bit if it had spilled over," he says with a shrug.

The fight turns out to be less than the highlight of the wait since we watched as a couple packs of ugly, needle-toothed aliens known as vorcha get into a brawl. This fight is far more interesting, especially since one of the feral creatures bumps into me mid-fight and rounds on me with a snarl. Deciding not to give it a chance to attack me, I fire a right roundhouse shin kick into its knee, causing its leg to collapse. Immediately, I follow up with a right cross that sends a couple of the vorcha's teeth flying and it falls to the deck.

_So much for that_, I think, turning to get back into line. Suddenly, I cry out in pain as I feel claws ripping through my leather coat and raking across my back. Whirling around, I take a step back and get my guard up.

"You thought you beat me," the vorcha snarls, it's voice high-pitched and gravelly. "You were wrong!" Letting out an inarticulate screech, it takes a swipe at my throat.

Reacting immediately, I step outside of the arc of its swing, grab onto its wrist to straighten its arm, and fire a rising elbow strike with my other arm. My blow connects with the vorcha's elbow, destroying the joint with a wet snap-pop. As it howls in pain, I shift my grip to the back of its head and drive my knee into its ribs, doubling it over as the bones snap from the impact. I finish my combination with a forearm smash across its spine, dropping all of my weight behind the blow and feeling its spinal column give way as it drops to the deck again.

"Bastard," I mutter, knowing I'm going to have to get treated for the wound on my back before it becomes infected. Before I can turn back to the line, the vorcha starts getting back to its feet, even USING the arm I'd essentially destroyed. "WHAT THE FUCK?" I shout in disbelief. _I fucking snapped that thing's SPINE! It should be fucking paralyzed!_

My shock costs me the advantage and I barely manage lurch away the vorcha's renewed attack and its claws rake my face from my left ear across my cheek to my mouth and chin. Still behind the curve, I barely manage to get my arm up to take another swipe that would have torn my throat open if it had connected. Acting on sheer desperation, I plant my left heel in the hollow of its hip to push it away and buy me time to regroup.

The next time it attacks, I'm ready, answering its charge with a quick kick to the face. The blow doesn't do more than surprise it, but that's all I need. While the vorcha is off guard, I follow up with a left hook that whips its head around and it falls to its knees. As it uses a waist-high railing to pull itself back to its feet, I spot my opportunity to end this fight permanently. Letting out a feral snarl of my own, I bring my right knee up to my chest and fire a piston-like heel push kick into the vorcha's chest that sends it cartwheeling over the railing and screaming to its death.

Still amped up from the adrenaline running through me, I work on calming down and take stock of my injuries. Looking at my right arm, I can see the sleeve of my coat is shredded and the outside of my forearm has been laid open from my elbow to halfway to my wrist. _Doesn't look like anything vital was hit,_ I think, seeing that I'm bleeding, but not too freely. Using my fingers, I trace the claw marks on my face, hissing in pain, but feeling that the cuts are pretty much superficial. The bad one is the wound on my back; every movement I make is agony and I'm breathing heavily from the pain.

"That wasn't too bad," someone says from behind me, a turian judging from the sound of his voice. "Especially for a human."

"Yeah, well I'd hope after that little spat thirty years ago, people would stop underestimating us," I answer, turning to face him, noting he's the first turian I've seen without facial markings.

"Hey, I meant no offense. Just saying it's not every day a human takes on a vorcha without some kind of weapon," he says, his voice a bit smoother than other turians I've spoken to. "By the way, thanks for killing it. Makes my job easier."

"Really?" I ask, my voice a bit tight with pain as the adrenaline starts to fade.

"Yeah. Damn vorcha multiply faster than I can kill them and they keep trying to get into the club," he answers, gesturing toward Afterlife.

"At least you know you won't be out of a job any time soon," I answer, my voice tightening a bit as the adrenaline fades and the pain starts to get worse.

"Got that right," he says. Then he puts his hand to the headset he's wearing. "Yeah? Alright, boss." Turning to the bouncer at the door he shouts "Hey! Let this guy in."

"With restrained curiosity: Alright," the elcor rumbles back.

"Please tell me I'm not on your boss's shit-list," I half whine, trying to cover my nervousness with a bit of humor. "I've got enough people who want me dead."

"Relax," he answers. "She just wants to talk with you."

"Fair enough. I didn't catch your name," I reply, still wary of what may happen, though if his boss wanted me dead, she'd have him shoot me in the face here and now.

"Captain Gavorn," he says. "Better get moving. Aria doesn't like waiting."

"No problem," I say, walking past the elcor bouncer and into the club. Immediately I'm reminded of Chora's Den on a larger scale. Looking around for a moment, I let my eyes adjust to the lighting and I spot a darkened area in the back of the club overlooking the floor. _That's where she is_, I think, knowing from past experience that crime bosses are a paranoid bunch, the longer they're alive the more paranoid they get.

Deciding to get cleaned up a bit, I go to the bar and order a bottle of brandy and a few towel. Going into the restroom with the booze and the towels, I start cleaning my wounds. _Dammit, this shit burns,_ I think, pouring the alcohol over the cuts on my arm first. Making a makeshift bandage from one of the towels, I tie it tightly over the wound to stop the bleeding. Knowing there's not much I can do on my own for my face or back, I settle for soaking a towel with the booze and cleaning the cuts on my face and back until I can get proper medical attention. Keeping the jacket on despite it being ruined, I go back out onto the floor.

_Nice operation she's got going here. Plenty of legit income on top of whatever else she has running,_ I think, looking around to find exotic dancers; mostly asari with a few humans here and there. I also spot an open dance floor occupied by members of just about every major species, several bars that are busy as hell… except for one. This last bar has a crowd around it just like the others, but the difference is most of the people are scanning the crowd around them instead of drinking.

_Must be some bigwig,_ I think making my way over to the bar, grabbing a stool, and ordering a stiff shot of brandy. Knocking it back as soon as it arrives, I order another, this time sipping it as I think about my next move.

"Hey," one of the bodyguards, a batarian armed with an assault rifle says sharply. "Move it."

"Excuse me?" I ask, looking at him sideways, still sipping at my drink.

"You heard me. Move it!" he counters, hefting his rifle.

"Look, pal. I've had a pretty shitty day so I'm going to cut the bullshit. I'm here on business and I'm not bothering anyone by sitting here and having a drink. Now you can either back the hell off, or I can take that rifle from you and beat you to death with it."

Before he can answer, I hear harsh-sounding feminine laughter coming from the middle of the crowd. "Oh, I'm sure I could get half the station to pay to watch that. But please don't kill my bodyguard. Loyal men are a pain to come by."

"I'll keep that in mind," I answer.

"It's alright boys," the voice says to the guards and they part, showing a purple-skinned asari dressed in a black jumpsuit with a short white jacket. She isn't classically beautiful, but she's striking, her facial features augmented by tattoos that run from her head fringes, down her jaw, and over her brow. A second tattoo runs from her lower lip down her chin.

"Aria T'Loak? I'm-"

"I know who you are," she says, cutting me off. "I must say it's not often I hear about someone who manages to piss the Suns off to the point where they put a bounty on his head."

"Yeah, I can be a popular guy at times," I answer, knocking back the remainder of my shot and ordering another. "That's not why I'm here, though."

"I figured as much. It takes a special kind of fool to take on an organization who wants them dead," she says, sipping at her drink. "Judging from the way you handled that vorcha, you're courageous, ballsy even. But you're no fool. So… why are you here?"

"I'm tracking a bounty head. A salarian by the name of Onak. Arrived here about a week ago from the Citadel and joined up with Eclipse," I say, getting to business.

"And you think I might know where you can find him?" she asks, sounding amused and watching me closely.

"The thought crossed my mind," I reply, looking her in the eye. "But I'm mostly here to show respect. I've got enough people who want me dead without having to deal with you hunting me down."

"How thoughtful of you," she says somewhat sarcastically. "Since you helped Gavorn out, I'll tell you where Eclipse operates. As for where your salarian is, you'll have to find that out on your own."

"Fair enough," I answer.

"They run their smuggling business out of the docks on the other side of the station," she says, shifting a bit closer. "They're not as disciplined as the Suns, but they're still deadly. Most of them are asari and salarians with plenty of humans in the mix. Obviously, I'd recommend going in with back-up, but you should be able to get in if you're clever enough."

"That's always the easy part. Hard part will be getting out with my bounty in tow and not getting killed in the process," I comment, knocking back my shot and declining another, having had enough booze for one night. Standing up from my stool, I grimace in pain and lean against the bar to keep on my feet.

"You look like hell," she says, watching me closely, as if considering what she's going to do next. Then she motions to one of her men, a turian with red facial markings who grabs me by the arm to steady me. "Come on. I'll have my doctor look at you," she continues, getting up.

"Not that I'm ungrateful," I manage to say, my teeth gritted from the pain. "But what's the catch?"

"No catch. Consider this a favor. One that I may call in sometime," she answers, her expression completely devious. "It's up to you. You can decline, but how will you get your job done while you're flat on your back?"

_Dammit, I don't want to owe a crime boss a favor, _I think, knowing this is a slippery slope. If I accept this favor, she'll have a leash on me. _But what choice do I have?_ Sighing inwardly, I say "Alright."

"Smart answer," she says, leading our group to a private room. "Wait here," she says, leaving me with some of her guards.

"Just be glad Aria wants you alive, human," the batarian who'd tried to menace me earlier growls when the door closes. "You're all worthless scum."

"So what does that make you, _batarian_? Last I heard, your kind keeps getting your collective asses handed to you on a silver platter by us," I retort, taunting him. "Guess that means you're lower than worthless scum."

"If you weren't under Aria's protection-"

"You still wouldn't do anything. Shit, you don't have the balls to do anything now," I counter, calling his bluff.

"He's got you pegged, Gorak," the turian who'd aided me earlier says with a snicker.

"Shut UP, Lilihim!" the batarian shouts, acting like more like a street punk than a bodyguard.

Before the situation gets too far out of control, Aria returns, an older-looking asari dressed in a well-worn utility jumpsuit in tow. "Getting along with my men, I see," she says, her expression saying plainly she heard the whole conversation.

_She probably has bugs everywhere. Can't say I'm surprised_, I think as the doctor opens her medical kit and sits across from me.

"Take your jacket and shirt off," she says in a clipped tone.

"Yes, ma'am," I say, shrugging out of my ruined jacket and pulling my torn shirt over my head, revealing my P30 and knife.

"I was starting to wonder if you were armed," Aria commented, seeing my weapons. "Of course one wonders why you didn't just shoot that vorcha."

"Couple of reasons why," I answer, removing the makeshift bandage from my arm. "Main reason is as close as that vorcha was, the gun would have been a liability."

"On the table," the doctor says in the same clipped tone, clearly sounding like she isn't happy with this.

Getting up on the table, I see Aria looking at me closely, as if reassessing her opinion of me. Hissing slightly in pain as the doc applies disinfectant and medi-gel to my wounds, I start thinking of how I'm going to go about my job. _Like I said; easy part's getting in. I'll have to scope it out before I do anything, though._

"Done," the doctor says simply, getting up and leaving without another word.

"Not exactly chatty, is she?" I say, putting my shirt and jacket back on and standing up.

"Maybe, but she's good at what she does," Aria says. "Do yourself a favor: let me know when you make your move. It would be unfortunate if we had a misunderstanding."

"Of course," I say giving her a slight bow as I take my leave. Heading back to the ship, I keep an eye out for possible tails, not spotting anyone as I board the ship and head to my cabin. Bringing up the extranet on my omni-tool, I pull up a layout of Omega and start coming up with a plan. _This is going to be fun,_ I think, knowing this will be the biggest challenge I've ever taken on. Making some notes, I log off and go to my bunk for a couple hour's rack time.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N:_ Ok... seven long months since my last update. Unfortunately, my muse was being fickle and life kept interfering. Hopefully, this'll be a step toward making up for the long wait. Please read and review, and my thanks to those who follow my story. ETA: Thanks to the assistance of a friend, I went through and made some minor changes to this chapter, editing a few things here and there to tighten it up.

* * *

><p><em>Al<em>_right, these guys definitely aren't amateurs,_ I think as I watch the Eclipse operation from my perch inside an abandoned, burned-out warehouse nearly a mile away. Adjusting my binoculars to zoom in closer to the group of guards I'm observing, the first thing I notice is their gear is pretty new and probably expensive. _Well-funded too,_ I think, making notations on my data pad as I watch their patrol route.

About an hour later, I decide to head back to my ship, adopting a slow, staggering gait, having disguised myself as one of the seemingly endless number of drunken vagrants that seem to pass unnoticed by the population at large. As I weave and stagger my way through the rotten stench of the station, I think about everything I've observed in the past week and start finalizing my plan. _Ok… they're skilled and well-equipped. Discipline isn't military, but better than most typical organizations…_

Turning a corner, I make my way down to the docks were my ship is berthed. Going aboard, I ignore the comments about my grime-covered appearance and make a beeline for my cabin. Firing up the shower, I undress and study my notes as I wait for the water to heat up. _This would be a shitload easier if I had backup,_ I lament silently, going over the information and trying to decide the best course of action.

Noticing the shower's steaming up, I get in and waste no time in scrubbing the week's worth of dirt, rust, and grime that I've endured during my recon of Eclipse's operation. Staying in long enough to make sure I've gotten every last bit of grime off of me and out of my hair, I shut the shower off, dry myself off, and go over to the sink to shave. Getting a good look at my reflection in the mirror, I hesitate for a moment, still not used to seeing the four claw long marks that mar my face and neck; starting at the corner of my left eye, left ear, and just under my jaw and ending at my upper lip, corner of my mouth, and Adam's apple. _Damned vorcha,_ I think in disgust as I shave off the week old stubble, taking care not to re-injure myself.

When I'm done, I dress in my usual outfit and shrug into my new leather jacket. Making sure my P30 and knife are at home in their holsters, I leave the ship and head to Omega. Nodding a greeting to the bouncers as I walk inside, I notice the crowd is even bigger than it usually is. _Must be some kind of party going on._

Stopping at the bar, I order up a small tumbler of whiskey and sip at it as I make my way to Aria's loft. As I climb the stairs, I run into Gorak. _Wonder if the dipshit's going to try something…_

"Outta the way, human," he sneers, clearly upset about something.

"What's the matter? Having a flare up of your silicate vaginitis?" I ask mockingly.

For a moment, he looks confused. Then my taunt registers and he grabs me by the collar, getting in my face. "One of these days…"

"But that day isn't today," I answer. "Now unless you want to have your arm protruding from your ass, I suggest you let me go," I continue, my voice a mix of anger and challenge: daring him to give me an excuse to follow up on my threat.

Snarling impotently, he shoves me away and storms off. "Pussy," I mutter, having little respect for someone who threatens violence but won't back it up.

"I'm starting to get the impression you're actually _want_ him to pick a fight with you," Aria says from her couch, a glass of brandy in hand.

"I can't help it if he wants to run his mouth and then not put his money where his mouth is," I answer, entering the loft and taking the seat Aria indicated with a jerk of her head.

"So what brings you here aside from taunting my men?" she asks, sipping at her brandy and lounging on her couch like some sort of predator at rest, power and confidence seeming to radiate off her in waves.

"Just wanted to stop by and let you know I'm making my run for Onak in a couple days," I answer, keeping my body language confident but respectful, as I sip my whiskey. _Just play the game and don't piss her off,_ I think.

"That's thoughtful of you," she answers in a bored tone, her features showing the barest hint of interest at my reaction to her game. "Going to share your plans with me?" she asks, turning and shifting closer to me, her posture turning more dominant.

Turning to face her head-on, I straighten my body slightly, not challenging her but not backing down either. "No. It would take a special brand of fool to do that and as you observed: I'm no fool."

Smiling predatorily, she changes her posture again, eyeing me as if I were a fly caught in her web. "I could make you tell me. Call it the favor you owe me," she says, watching me closely.

This time I lean back and sip at my drink before answering her. "But you won't," I answer, outright challenging her. Seeing the ire flash in her eyes, I continue. "Releasing me from your debt for such a trivial bit of information? I don't buy it. You didn't get to where you are by making a bad bargain like that."

Laughing in amusement, Aria goes back to lounging on her couch, regarding me with an expression that tells me I've piqued her interest even more with my display of confidence and spine. "You've got balls, standing up to me like that," she says, finishing her brandy and motioning for one of her guards to refill her tumbler. "I can appreciate someone who has a spine. It's better than the simpering yes-men I seem to be stuck with most days." With a subtle flare of biotic energy playing over her skin, she continues. "Just make sure that confidence doesn't turn into arrogance."

Bowing my head slightly out of respect and acknowledgment her as higher up on the food chain than me, I salute her with my glass and finish my drink. "I know my place," I say, knowing that she can rip me apart without breaking a sweat.

"Good," she says, enjoying her victory over me in our little game. "You look a bit tense. Have another drink, on the house. Maybe find a nice girl to help you unwind."

"I appreciate it, but I'm afraid it'll have to be another time," I answer respectfully. "I need to get some rest and work out the final little details of my plans."

"Fair enough," she says, dismissing me with a wave of her hand.

Standing up, I stretch and say, "I'll probably be back before I leave for the Citadel."

"And I'll probably be here. Good hunting," she says in a manner that could almost be called friendly.

Taking my leave, I head back to my ship for some rack time. The next morning, I get to work on my plan: using my omni-tool to make a disguise that changes my features enough to render me unrecognizable; hiding my scars, changing my eye color from golden hazel to a piercing blue, and hiding my long auburn hair under a slicked-back dirty blonde wig. _Not sure if this disguise will work, but it won't hurt to try it._

Breaking out a spare data pad, I use the omni-tool to make some "special" modifications: altering the circuitry so a certain set of commands will cause the device to enter a critical overload and explode, turning it into a makeshift mine. Next I get ahold of an old fountain pen with a large barrel, modifying it so it conceals a small needle loaded with a narcotic that'll render Onak unconscious when I inject him while still being able to function as a writing implement. Finally, I get a few spare battery packs and convert them into a set of stun grenades by adding a small fuse that will set each battery into overload after a five second delay after I arm it by pressing a small recessed button on the side. _All that training Lare gave me on how to use this thing is really paying off now,_ I muse as I work.

_Ok… that should do it. I just hope they don't scan my stuff too closely,_ I think, booting up my extranet connection and sending them the following message:

"Hello. I represent an organization that is interested in entering a business partnership with your organization. I won't discuss the details over the net, but if you're interested, please reply with a time and place where we can meet at your convenience.

-Cordially, J.B."

While I wait for a response, I go over my notes yet again, trying to see if there's anything I missed. _Hopefully their lack of discipline and formal training will make them lax,_ I think, knowing my plan is risky, but it's also the most viable one.

A couple hours later, I get a response, telling me to be at a shuttle stop in forty miunutes. _Ok, game time,_ I think, changing into my disguise and dressing in a set of contemporary business clothes, and swapping out my P30 and knife for the needle pen and an ERCS Striker I pistol I'd bought. Replying to the message with my acceptance of their terms, I log off and head for the shop Eclipse had specified.

Before too long, the shuttle arrives, manned by three people, two humans and a salarian, in Eclipse's trademark armor: bright yellow with black markings and a stylized solar eclipse with a capital letter "E" on the breast plate. "Are you J.B.?" the salarian, apparently the leader of this little group asks me.

"Of course," I answer, switching my usual North American accent with a good approximation of a London accent.

"Get in," he answers.

As I climb into the back of the shuttle, I hear the familiar whirring clicks of a weapon being drawn. Sure enough, the co-pilot, a dark skinned human female, has her pistol drawn and aimed at my head.

"Nothing personal," the salarian says, activating his omni-tool. "But we need to check you for bugs."

"Understandable," I answer, keeping my hands in plain sight and not making any sudden moves as he scans me.

"He's clean," the salarian announces to his colleagues. To me he says, "You'll have to hand over your pistol. No one comes to see our boss while armed."

"A sensible precaution," I answer, carefully reaching for the pistol on my waist and holding it with my fingertips as I hand it over. _At least it's not my P30,_ I think, partially kicking myself for having an emotional attachment to my preferred pistol.

The rest of the trip passes in silence as we cross the station and land at the main Eclipse warehouse I'd been staking out the past week. _And here we go,_ I think as I get out of the shuttle and follow my escorts. "Not a bad operation you have going here," I comment, seeing several workers busying themselves with loading crates onto various transports.

"Thank you," the salarian says, leading me to an office with a red skinned salarian with white markings on his face sitting behind a desk flanked by a pair of asari commandos in full armor. "Here he is, Jaroth," he says when we enter.

"Thanks, brother. I've got it from here," Jaroth answers. When his brother leaves, he motions to the empty seats in front of his desk. "Please, take a seat."

"Thank you," I answer, feeling more wary now that I'm in the heart of the proverbial lion's den. "I must say, I was surprised at how quickly you answered my offer."

"Not much of an offer, vague as it was," he counters.

"That's the problem with the extranet. Can't put too many details in a message without advertising it for all to see," I answer. "Perhaps I'm old-fashioned, but I prefer face-to-face meetings. They're much more secure and far more interesting than reading sterile text on a data pad."

"I see. So what is this offer you wanted to meet about?" he asks, clearly wanting to get to business rather than chit-chat.

"I have several contacts who run smuggling rings. Nothing particularly large, but they're profitable enough," I answer, going with the cover I'd been cooking up.

"And where do these rings operate?" he asks, clearly skeptical.

"Mostly in the Sol system and a couple of our closer colonies like Terra Nova," I answer. "There's a pretty strong market for good quality red sand in those systems. Most of what's sold is poor quality backwater shit and the customer base is getting fed up with it."

"Interesting. And you want us to be your supplier?" Jaroth asks, seemingly interested, if I'm reading his body language correctly.

"Exactly," I answer. "We purchase our supply solely from you and act as the distributers. We'll even split the profits with you. Right now I'm only authorized to offer no more than an eighty-twenty split with us taking the larger share due to the greater exposure we'll be assuming."

"You certainly came prepared to do business," he answers, rubbing his chin as he thinks about the offer. "I'm not going to agree to anything right now, but you do make an intriguing offer."

"There's also one other condition to our offer. I'd have to tour your operation. Get a feel for how Eclipse does business," I continue, playing my gamble.

"And why would you need to do that?" he asks, suspiciously.

"My organization is taking a rather large step from our usual contraband smuggling. We need to know for a fact that those we enter partnerships with are capable of living up to the bargain. And since I'm the designated middleman, I can represent you to my bosses and fine a way to sweeten the deal for both sides," I answer. _Come on… take the bait,_ I think, hoping for the right answer.

"I'll need some time to think about your offer, but so far it sounds interesting," Jaroth answers. Keying a button on his desk he says, "Onak, you're needed at my office."

"Right away, boss," a salarian voice answers.

_Stay cool,_ I think to myself, not wanting to give away the excitement I'm feeling from having my quarry so close. A moment later, the door opens and a salarian I assume is Onak steps in. _Son of a bitch,_ I think as I recognize him; he was the salarian who nearly ran me and Lare over on the Citadel. _Small fucking universe,_ I think, trying not to blow my cover.

"Onak, this is J.B. He's a prospective customer. Why don't you show him our operation while I come up with a counterproposal to his offer?" Jaroth says.

"Of course," Onak answers. "Right this way."

Rising from my seat, I follow my quarry, making appropriate comments throughout the tour as I commit the layout of the building to memory. For some reason, though, something seems a bit off. _Probably just jitters,_ I think as I palm my needle pen, getting ready to drug him when the opportunity arrises.

Near the end of the impromptu tour, we turn a corner and come across an armed patrol of an asari and three burly male humans that looks ready for trouble. _Fuck me sideways…_ I think, having a good idea who it is they're looking for. Relaxing as much as I can, I get ready to make my move.

"Enjoying the tour?" the asari asks, her voice light, but her eyes are watching me closely.

"Of course," I answer, keeping up the charade, hoping this is just a coincidence, but not counting on it.

"You can drop the act, McLaughlin," she answers pointedly.

"I thought this was going too well," I answer, dropping the accent. "I'm guessing that bug scan is what got me?"

"Partially. We knew you were coming here ahead of time," she gloats. "Now you gonna come quietly or do I have to get rough?"

"Under other circumstances I might find that question to be intriguing," I quip, reverting to being a pain in the ass. Meanwhile, Onak is just standing where he is, still in easy lunging distance. _Moron,_ I think.

"Don't flatter yourself," the asari sneers.

Heaving a dramatic sigh, I comment, "What is the universe coming to when people can't appreciate good banter?"

"I won't ask again. You coming quietly or not?" she snaps impatiently.

"Oh, there's so much potential in that sentence, but I won't go there," I answer. Before she can respond, I make my move: lunging at Onak, I manage to twist his left arm behind his back in a restraining hold and place him between me and the guards as a shield, ready to inject him when the time comes."

"Do you honestly think we're going to let you out of here like that?" the asari asks, sounding amused by my antics.

Shifting my grip on Onak's arm so the hand that's holding the needle against his back is also maintaining the arm lock, I pull out one of my makeshift stun grenades, I answer, "Not really. That's why there's always plan B." Depressing the arming button, I slide the modified battery across the floor from between Onak's legs while stepping back to make sure he and I don't get caught in the blast.

The guards only have enough time to say "What the-" before the device discharges a powerful jolt of electricity, with the distinctive sound of arcing energy. Injecting Onak with the drug, I sling him over my shoulder and make a dash for a nearby loading vehicle, knowing I won't have much time before the other guards start opening up. Just as I dump the limp salarian into the cab of the vehicle and punch the accelerator.

_Stay focused Ian and get the hell out of here,_ I think, careening through the warehouse as I try to make my escape. Unfortunately, Murphy rears his ugly head and I lose control of the vehicle, crashing it into a pile of crates. "FUCK," I shout, pulling an assault rifle from a weapons rack as I get out of the wrecked vehicle and start fighting back, firing in long bursts to try to make the guards keep their heads down. Just as I start making some headway, one of the guards uses his omni-tool to make my rifle go into overload and I have to throw it aside before it blows up in my face.

_Just fucking WONDERFUL,_ I think, grabbing a second assault rifle and focusing on dropping as many of the guards as I can to even the odds. Yet again, my gun gets overloaded and I have to throw it away. Tossing out a couple more of my stun grenades, I use the time I've bought to look around my surroundings to figure out how I can get out of this. _Think, Ian,_ _what would MacGuyver do?_

Spotting a couple fire extinguishers and a length of scrap metal, I start coming up with a plan. Quickly peeking out from cover, I spot a group of seven guards holding their ground, waiting for me to come out. Using my omni-tool, I tap into their comms and listen to their conversation.

"Why don't we just kill the asshole?" a female voice says angrily.

"Orders. Jaroth wants him alive for interrogation," a male voice answers.

"Just as long as I can be in on it," another female voice answers. "I've been needing to practice my biotics."

_Alright, then, _I think, knowing the rules of the game. Activating my omni-tool's scanner, it reads their distance from me as ten meters. _A bit on the long side, but I'll take what I can get_, I think. Grabbing the length of scrap metal and one of the extinguishers, I smash the extinguisher on the ground as hard as I can to cause it to start leaking its gas in a fog before tossing it toward the guards. While I wait for the smokescreen to build up, I smash the second extinguisher and use it to extend my makeshift smokescreen before darting out from cover and attacking. The first guard falls quickly to a strong blow to the side of the neck. Moving to the nearest target, I strike her in the knee, causing her leg to collapse as the joint breaks and following it up with powerful kick to the head that stuns her.

Number three tries to bring her shotgun to bear against me, but I'm too close and I grapple with her, using the scrap metal as a lever to dislocate her elbow and throw her into guard number four. Not wasting any time, I immediately close the gap on number five, wielding the bar of scrap metal almost like a sword as I come in low and bury it into his midsection to double him over before finishing him with an overhead strike that cleanly hits him on the back of the neck where it meets the skull. Guard six manages to knock the bar from my grip, but I counter by grappling with him and twisting his arm so I can force him to shoot the last guard before I disarm him and put a bullet in his head.

Booby-trapping the bodies with the last of my stun grenades, I run back to the vehicle and find an old vent nearby the crates I'd crashed into. Breaking the cover loose, I see that it's big enough for both me and Onak to fit into. _Looks like I'll have to go rat,_ I think, grabbing Onak's limp form and shoving him into the vent before following him inside. Pausing for a moment to replace the grate and booby trap it with my data pad-disguised mine, I stow my pistol and set about finding my way back to my ship.

The trip is far from pleasant: running into vermin at several intervals and having to re-drug Onak so he doesn't get loose. _How the hell did they know I was coming?_ I ask myself as I drag my way through the cramped tunnel. _And how did they know I was after Onak? Aria could have told them, but she has no reason to betray me,_ I think, trying to work out what the hell caused me to get burned. _But I didn't tell anyone else about my plans. So… if not Aria, then who?_

Finally managing to find a vent that's clear of Eclipse patrols, I kick it loose and find myself in the slums. Sighing in semi-relief, I manage to drag Onak to a shuttle stop and hail a shuttle that'll take us to the docks, explaining away to the pilot that the salarian had partied too hard and needs to sleep it off. When we arrive at my ship, Onak's starting to regain consciousness, but it does him little good as I toss him unceremoniously into the cargo hold.

"What do you want with me?" he asks, trying to fight off the drug haze.

"It's not me who has business with you," I answer tiredly.

"Then who?" he demands, becoming more coherent.

"Let's just say that stabbing one's boss in the back is a bad way to leave an organization," I answer, turning on my heel and heading back to my cabin to shower and get out of my disguise.

While I'm in the shower, my omni-tool beeps and I realize I still have it set to monitor Eclipse communications.

"What the hell? You told me the human wasn't going to be a problem," Jaroth's brother snaps angrily over the intercepted channel.

"It's not my fault you let him into your warehouse," a familiar voice responds petulantly. "Blame the idiot who let _that_ happen."

"Now you listen to me," the salarian says. "If you want to be more than Aria's lapdog you'd better prove yourself to be more useful than a vorcha caught in a turbine."

"_I'm _not the one who couldn't kill a single human, even with asari commandos," the voice answers, the tone sounding more childish than before.

_That voice is very familiar, somehow…_ I think, initiating a trace on the second voice and starting to record the conversation.

"You let us worry about our people," the salarian sneers. "Right now I've got a more important job for you."

"What is it?" the voice asks.

"Your information on the human's ability was wrong, but it was correct as far as his movements go. So, Jaroth wants you to keep us in the loop on Aria's movements and whatever plans you can dig up," the salarian says, making it clear that there's no negotiation regarding the informant's participation in the matter.

"I can tell you about her movements, but her plans are more dangerous. You're not paying me enough for that kind of risk," the voice answers.

"You'll get us the information we want, otherwise, we'll arrange for you to have one eye instead of four," the salarian threatens. "Besides… if our plans succeed, you'll be more than just a bodyguard and lapdog. You'll have a position of prestige in Eclipse as the man who brought down the infamous Aria T'Loak."

_ Son of a fucking bitch,_ I think as I realize who the traitor is. _Batarian, one of Aria's bodyguards, has a reason to sell me out to Eclipse,_ I think in anger as I quickly finish my shower and dress in my usual cargo pants, boots, shirt, and jacket while my omni-tool finishes the backtrace. Making sure I have the suppressor for my P30 readily at hand, I leave the ship and go traitor-hunting.

Sticking to the shadows and crowds, I make my way over to the place where Gorak was transmitting from. _Looks like it's his place_, I think, doing a chamber check to make sure my gun's loaded before screwing on the suppressor. Patiently waiting outside his apartment, I consider what I'm going to do with him. _I could always just show Aria the evidence and let her deal with him,_ I think as I lean against the bulkhead. _But what's the fun in that?_

It's not very long at all before he leaves the apartment, heading toward the markets with me shadowing him. _Christ, he's stupid. Not even checking to see if anyone is following him,_ I think in contempt as I wait for the right place to make my move. Several minutes and a few turns later, he ducks into an alley with no one but vagrants around. _Perfect,_ I think, drawing my pistol and getting a good two-handed grip as I fire a trio of shots into his thigh and knee from behind, the suppressor muffling the shots.

Screaming in pain, the batarian falls to the deck, clutching his wounded leg. Keeping my weapon aimed at him, I walk up to him, putting the gun against his head as I search him and take away his weapons and omni-tool. "Surprised to see me, motherfucker?" I ask, seeing his eyes widen in terror as he recognizes me. Smiling evilly, I strike him on the base of the skull with the butt of my pistol to knock him out.

Dragging him up to the roof of his apartment, I rig a rope and pulley system to dangle him head-first over the edge from an old piping system that extends across the street. "Wakey, wakey," I say cheerfully as he stirs.

"Unh…" he groans, waking up slowly. Then he cries out as he realizes he's dangling by one ankle off over a street.

"Y'know," I say conversationally, as if we were just sitting at the bar. "For a backstabber, you're not particularly good at it."

"Cram it, human," he snarls at me.

"You're too heavy to be a clever dick, y'know that?" I reply, loosening the rope and letting him fall a few inches to prove my point.

"WAIT!" he shouts, his voice cracking from the fear. "What do you want with me?"

Taking out my knife, I slice at the rope, not stopping until only a few strands remain. _That should be sufficient. They'll break on their own and he'll have plenty of time to contemplate his fate,_ I think, sheathing my knife and getting ready to leave.

"Aria'll kill you for this," he snarls at me.

"No, she won't," I answer. "Not when I'm on my way to being her new best friend. Oh, and I wouldn't recommend struggling against that rope. Not unless you're in a hurry to die." Turning on my heel, I leave his apartment and head for Afterlife.

Going inside, I don't even stop at the bar and head straight for Aria's loft in time to hear her guards talking about how Gorak is late for his shift. "He's not coming in," I say. "On account of being dangled of the roof of his apartment complex."

"And how would you know that?" Aria asks pointedly before her guards can interrogate me, her expression guarded

"Because I'm the one who decided to dangle him off the roof of his building," I say unapologetically, looking her in the eye as I speak.

"Now why would you do that?" she asks icily, the look in her eyes promising violence if I don't have a good answer for her.

"Eclipse was ready for me when I made my run for Onak. Aside from my employer, you and your guards the only ones who know why I'm on Omega. You don't have any reason to betray me. Neither do most of your guards."

"Very true," she says, still eying me like she's about to rip my spine from my body.

"Well, I managed to get the job done, and during my escape, I set my omni-tool to intercept their comm chatter. I managed to come up with this little gem…" I answer, calling up the recording on my omni-tool.

When the recording gets to the part about Gorak selling her out to Eclipse, Aria's eyes flash in anger as she surges to her feet. "Would ANY of you care to EXPLAIN to me how you managed to miss ONE OF YOUR OWN MEN planning on BETRAYING ME?" she growls.

"I-I don't know," her head bodyguard stammers. "I'll look into it."

"See that you do," she says icily. Recomposing herself, she motions for me to sit in one of the chairs as she sits on her couch. "I appreciate your handling of this," she says to me, still angry, but not directing it at me. "But don't think for a moment that this makes us even; you had as much reason to get rid of him as I do."

"Of course," I answer, sitting in the chair.

"Did you really dangle him off the roof of his building?" she asks, a devious smile starting to curve across her lips as she motions for a couple glasses of brandy.

"By the ankle over a street way where I saw vorcha starting to gather," I answer, accepting the drink. "And before I left," I continue, smiling almost sadistically, "I cut the rope until it was only a few strands. Depending on how much he squirms, it'll take some time for the rope to break. I suggested he use that time to think about what he did."

"I think I'm starting to like you, Ian," she says, sipping her drink. "It's not often I come across someone so ruthless."

"I have my moments," I answer, relaxing in the chair and sipping my brandy. "Mostly I care about getting the job done, but sometimes I feel the need to be vindictive about it. Sends a clear message: fuck with me... pay the price."

"Indeed," she answers. "The very words I live by."

Finishing my drink, I stand. "Well, it's been a pleasure doing business with you," I say respectfully.

"Likewise," she says, watching me closely.

_Just what the hell have I gotten myself into?_ I ask myself as I leave Afterlife, feeling Aria's eyes on me the whole time. Boarding the ship, I let the Captain know that my business is done and he can leave for the Citadel whenever he's ready before going to my cabin and falling into my bunk; not even bothering to change out of my clothes as I pass out from the stress bleeding off and exhaustion.


	12. Chapter 12

_AN: Holy shit, I can't believe it's been almost a year since my last update. I need to pick this up..._

* * *

><p><em>Once again, politicians prove that they haven't changed a damned bit over the past century and a half<em>, I muse silently as I sit in the waiting room and read an extranet editorial on one of the hot-button issues in galactic politics: the apparently fast rise of humanity. The article focuses heavily on the many arguments that the other species make against humanity joining the Citadel Council: a body consisting of a single representative of each of the three current member species: the asari, the turians, and the salarians. _Looks like the most vocal complaints are coming from the Volus ambassador_, I continue as I read, noting that the primary argument is that we're so new to the galactic community, but have developed what some would call an inordinate amount of influence in the span of just two decades. Meanwhile the volus have been a Citadel race for centuries, but haven't been granted Council status.

_Let's see,_ I think, going over what I've learned about recent history through all the heavy reading I've done since my accident. _The turians attacked and occupied our colony at Shanxi. They underestimated our military capability and when our fleet showed up, they got kicked into the next sector. Then the turians geared up for an all-out war until the Council intervened and negotiated a cease-fire and a peace treaty. I'd say our kicking a Council race's ass, even in a short conflict like the First Contact War proves that humanity isn't to be underestimated and might warrant slightly different treatment than other races who have newly arrived on the galactic scene,_ I conclude, feeling a strong sense of pride in humanity's accomplishment, even though we'd probably be in a world of hurt if the Council hadn't stepped in when they did.

_The volus, on the other hand, are not physically or militarily adept, making their presence felt through trade and commerce,_ I continue with my analysis, thinking of the diminutive race that relies on pressure suits to survive in a nitrogen/oxygen atmosphere and are quite physically frail. _While their accomplishments are impressive, particularly their establishment of a unified galactic economy, they're also a client race under the Turian Hierarchy, trading their economic skills for military protection. That alone prevents them from being on the Council._ Shaking my head in a mix of irritation and amusement, I search for more articles to distract me while I wait for my appointment to start.

"Ian?" a woman's voice calls from a doorway next to the receptionist's counter.

Shutting down my omni-tool, I stand and walk across the warmly-lit and soothingly decorated room to the door. "Right this way," the nurse, a somewhat plain-looking brunette a couple inches shorter than me dressed in a white, gray and red jumpsuit, says after a brief and subtle double-take upon getting a look at my scarred face.

_At least she's not staring,_ I think, as we walk down the starkly-lit, sterile-looking hall. _Might as well get used to it; it's not like cosmetic surgery is in the cards for me right now._

"In here, please," the nurse says, opening the door to a brightly-lit examining room and motioning for me to go inside.

Quietly stepping into the room, I take of my short jacket and set it on a chair as I sit on the examination table. Acting efficiently, the nurse does all the obligatory checks, scanning me to get a read on my physical state. Making a couple notations on the console, she excuses herself to get the doctor.

_Good thing I don't carry in a shoulder rig as often now,_ I muse to myself, knowing from experience that medical personnel tend to be antsy when it comes to weapons. Idly humming to myself to pass the time, I let my mind wander as I try to relax a bit for the first time in weeks.

"I see you finally decided to keep your appointment," a familiar voice says sharply as the door opens.

"What can I say, doc? I'm a busy guy," I answer nonchalantly as I sit up a bit straighter as the petite blonde doctor who'd examined me when I arrived through the mass relay walks in.

"More like you didn't feel like coming in, I'd say," Doctor Alexandria replies in annoyance as she pulls up my scans on the wall console. "Aside from those new scars, how would you rate your physical condition?" she asks, getting on with the exam.

"Pretty good," I answer. "At least as good as when I was still in the Corps."

Tapping a few controls, she continues with her questions. "How is your diet?"

"Same as I've kept it for most of my life: high carb, high protein with plenty of fruits and veggies," I answer, my boredom showing through. "I even eats me spinach," I quip, mimicking Popeye's voice.

Looking at me in confusion for a moment, Doctor Alexandria pulls up another set of scans, stopping suddenly in surprise. Taking a moment to look closely at the readout, she manages another question, her voice cautious. "Have you noticed any mental changes in yourself?"

_What's got her spooked?_ I think, before answering aloud. "Not that I'm aware of."

The silence between us is almost awkward before she continues. "Have you done anything recently that might have mind-altering effects?"

"I'm not on any drugs, if that's what you're asking," I reply immediately, starting to worry a bit at her reaction and her body language. "Is there something wrong with my scans?" When she hesitates, I pressure her a bit. "Tell me, doc. I need to know."

From the look on her face, she's trying to find a delicate way to say what's on her mind. Finally she says, "Remember when I released you from observation five months ago and I said your brainwave patterns were unusual?"

"Yeah, why?" I reply, not sure if I like where this is going.

"I'll be blunt: your brain is operating much differently than anything I've ever seen in a human," she says after a moment's hesitation.

"And that means…?"

"It means I need to run some tests and you'll have to be completely honest with me when I ask you more questions," she answers, queuing up another set of scans. "Lie down on the table, please."

Doing as she asks, I focus on my breathing to keep calm and not panic. _Please don't let this be something life-threatening,_ I think, frightened from not knowing what's going on with me.

Tapping a few more controls, Doctor Alexandria starts the scans and stands beside the table. "Is there anything you can think of that might be pertinent to this situation?"

Hesitating for a moment out of not being one to share my private life, I eventually say, "I've been dating an asari for the past couple months now."

"I see. Anything else?" she asks, making a couple notations on her omni-tool.

Thinking for a moment, I ask her, "This stays between us?"

"Of course. Doctor-patient confidentiality," she answers

After another moment, I share with the doctor some of the events that seemed strange to me: namely how I knew just where to hit that krogan to stun him during the bar fight in Nebula Night Club, how easily I had brought down those mercs when on the hostage rescue mission on Sharjila, and how I'd managed to MacGuyver my way out of that tight spot in Omega; all the while taking care to not mention the illegal things I've done in that time. Pausing for minute, I also bring up how I'd had a series of mental lapses a few weeks ago while chasing a bounty head.

"What do you mean by mental lapses?" she asks, recording all the details I'm giving her.

"I grew up in a prison town and was a bit of a small fry, so I was bullied in school and had to fend off gangs on occasion. Later, I joined the Marine Corps as an infantry grunt, and then was a private investigator after I left the Corps. On top of that, I've been training in martial arts for nearly twenty years. All of those experiences have made it so I'm basically hard-wired into scanning the area every so often, being aware of my surroundings, and so on," I explain. "And yet, I've made some mistakes that nearly got me in serious trouble. It's not like me to make those kinds of mistake as often as they've occurred."

"I see," she says, finishing up the scans. "If you'll wait here, I'll analyze the data in my office. Try and relax as best as you can."

"Alright, doc," I say, my nervousness showing through as I close my eyes and focus on my breathing to re-center my mind. When she walks out of the room, my mind goes into overdrive, trying to piece together what the hell has been going on. Going through every memory I have, I have a good hunch that it had something to do with my relay accident.

"Look at the details, Ian," I murmur to myself as I examine and reexamine the remarkable things that I've either had happen to me or I've done. _That bar fight happened a week after I awoke… and though I knew nothing about turian or krogan physiology, I almost instinctively knew where to hit them to bring them down as quickly as possible. On that desert planet… I've never moved that efficiently before, even when I was at the top of my game back in the Corps._ Then I frown. _And on Omega, I just looked around for a moment, but figured out how to improvise a way out of being pinned down using random objects lying around. I was never THAT good at thinking on my feet…_

Continuing to mentally chew on the facts that I know of, I'm startled out of my reverie when Doctor Alexandria returns after almost a half hour. "What'd you find out, doc?" I ask, sitting up.

"I took a different look at the scans. It seems that there's heightened activity in the areas of your brain that deal with cognition, memory, and information processing," she answers.

"Meaning…?" I ask, wanting her to tell me in plain English.

"This is just a hypothesis, but if I'm correct, your mind is processing information at a heightened rate," she says. "Though I'd like you to take a series of tests to be sure."

"What kind of tests?" I ask, thinking her hypothesis makes sense.

"I want to run more detailed scans of your brain," she explains. "There isn't anything like this on record and I need as much information as I can get so we can figure out what's going on."

" 'We' ?" I ask warily.

"I know several top neurologists who'll be more suited to figuring out what the scans mean," she says calmly. "The only thing I'll show them is the data from the scans. Your personal information will be kept secret."

"Alright," I say after a moment's thought, trusting Doctor Alexandria as I lay back down on the table and she starts her new round of scans. After what feels like an hour, the scans are done.

"Ok," she says. "I'll do everything I can to get you an answer as quickly as I can." Tapping a few keys on the holographic interface, she saves the data and encrypts it. "That should be all for today. I'll contact you when I know more."

"Thanks, Doc," I say, leaving the examining room and then the clinic; making a beeline for the nearest shuttle. _This just doesn't feel right. Something's up_, I think, starting to worry a bit about what she might find. Taking the shuttle to my apartment, I find I have two guests waiting for me at my door: a balding man with a goatee and an athletic, younger-looking man with brown short-cropped hair. Both of them are holding themselves in a manner that's very familiar to me.

"May I help you, detectives?" I ask pleasantly, seeing a note of surprise on the younger of the two police officers. Out of habit, I surreptitiously start recording them with my omni-tool, disguising the movement as I use the tool to unlock my apartment door a moment later.

"How'd you know we're cops?" he asks, clearly not expecting to be "made" so quickly.

"I'm a bounty hunter. I know cops when I see them," I answer, my tone of voice even and friendly.

"Fair enough," the younger officer answers. "May we come in?"

"Care to tell me what this is about?" I counter, still friendly but a bit wary of simply letting police officers into my home.

"We're investigating a murder and we'd like to ask you a few questions," he says, watching me closely.

"I see. Well, I'll be happy to answer your questions," I respond, keeping my expression pleasant despite the fact that I'm pretty sure they see me as a suspect.

"Enough of this polite crap," the older, balding detective says gruffly. "If you won't let us into your apartment, then you're coming with us."

"That's fine by me," I answer, my tone respectful.

"You getting cute with me?" the bald detective snaps.

"No, detective," I answer, wondering what his deal is as I lock up my apartment.

Following the detectives to their shuttle, I climb into the back and we quickly fly to the C-Sec office. Walking following them inside, I glance at the wanted persons list out of habit, but don't find anything worth going after. _Again with the small-frys_, I think as I follow the detectives into an interrogation room

"Hand over your piece," the older detective says gruffly as I sit in one of the cheap metal chairs at the table.

Quirking an eyebrow at his request, I ask, "Am I under arrest?"

"No, you're not," the younger detective says, looking uncomfortable at his superior's actions.

"In that case, I'll remain in control of my sidearm," I answer politely, but firmly, knowing that as a registered bounty hunter, I'm allowed to carry practically anywhere. _That kid's nervous, though. And the older guy looks like he doesn't exactly let things like legalities get in the way of him trying to make a case._

Looking as if he's trying hard to contain himself, the older detective growls at his subordinate; "Sit down, Barnes." Glaring at me, he continues. "Does the name Mickey 'the Rat' Sellers mean anything to you?"

"Not that I recall," I answer. "Should it?"

"He was a low level street punk who was looking to make it big," Barnes explains, looking like he's trying to be professional, unlike his older partner. "Word on the street is he was looking to join the Blue Suns and decided that bringing you to them would get him a position in their organization.

_Fuck, _I think, realizing they're talking about the guy I killed in the restroom a couple weeks ago. "I see. Before I continue, I'd like to consult with counsel," I say, knowing that they suspect me and I'd better lawyer up before I dig myself into an even deeper hole than the one I'm already in.

"I don't think so," the older detective sneers. "You get an attorney when I say so." Getting up from his chair across the table from me, he walks over to me and gets in my face. "I've got you for murder so you'd better start talking."

"If you're trying to intimidate me, detective, I don't recommend it," I answer, having dealt with his type before and noticing the smell of some sort of whiskey on his breath. "I'm a former Marine and a combat veteran. All you'll be doing is wasting your time."

The reaction I get is what I'd expected; almost immediately, he backhands me across the face hard enough to whip my head around and nearly knocks me out of the chair.

"That's enough, Harkin!" Detective Barnes shouts, his expression saying that this isn't the first time the older detective decided to get rough with a suspect.

"Stay out of this, Barnes," Harkin snarls, grabbing me by the collar of my jacket and getting back in my face. "Now talk!" he shouts.

"Not without an attorney present," I say, feeling the urge to beat the shit out of this cop, but knowing that eating this beatdown will serve me better and might win me an acquittal. _Just keep playing the game, Ian._

Growling in frustration, Harkin uses his grip on my jacket to haul me out of my chair and slam me against the wall before throwing me to the ground. "You going to confess now?" he demands, his voice getting angrier by the moment.

_Well if I'm going to get a beating, I might as well make it a good one,_ I think, sitting up and looking Harkin in the eye. "Why so angry detective?" I ask mockingly. "You find out your wife left you because she was tired of smelling booze on your breath and decided that she's more likely to get off with a volus than you?"

His face turning a rich shade of purple as the veins bulge in his temples, Harkin grabs me by the hair and delivers a knee to my face. Lost in rage, he delivers a series of boot-stomps to my ribs, and I feel some of them give way.

"I said that's enough, Harkin!" Barnes shouts, trying to pull the enraged detective off of me. The effort isn't successful as Harkin throws his partner aside and draws a collapsing baton out of one of his pockets, intent on continuing the beating. He manages to get a couple good swings in on me, connecting with my kidneys to make me writhe in pain before several uniformed officers come in and pin him to the wall.

"Someone get him to the infirmary," a turian officer says, clearly angry over the incident.

"Right away, sir," a human officer says, gingerly helping me to my feet.

"What the hell happened to him?" the medic, a female turian, asks, her voice shocked at the sight of me.

"Harkin happened," the officer helping me says, clearly disgusted with how I'd been beaten to a pulp.

"Maybe this time he'll be gone for good," the medic says as she helps me get on the examination table. "This has happened far too often. Help me get his clothes off so I can start looking him over."

Slowly and carefully, the officer and detective manage to undress me to my boxers, both of them cringing when they see just how badly I'd been beaten. "It's a wonder he's even conscious," the medic breathes.

"This… isn't the first… time I've… gotten my ass kicked," I manage through gritted teeth, my broken ribs protesting violently against me trying to speak.

"I'll have your effects stored in the locker," the officer who helped me into the infirmary says. "I'll make sure no one disturbs them."

"Thanks… appreciate it…" I manage, forcing myself to focus through the pain. "Need to make… a call."

"Let me check you over first," the medic says, starting up the scanners. "Four broken ribs, three cracked, bruised liver and kidneys, lacerations on your face, and a concussion," she continues, her voice turning clinical as she gets to work. Giving me an injection of pain killers, she carefully starts applying medi-gel to my wounds. About fifteen minutes later, the pain meds are in full effect and I'm breathing a bit easier. "That should do it for now," she says, handing me a set of generic coveralls that they probably use for subjects in custody. "Let's see about that call."

"Thanks, doc," I say, feeling a bit buzzed from the meds as she helps me walk over to a communications console after I get dressed.

"I'll give you some privacy," she says, walking out of the room.

_Well, here's hoping that offer is still on the table,_ I think, as I contact my most recent employer.

"How can I-," the secretary, a youngish blonde woman starts, gasping as she sees my face.

"Put me through to Ms. Blake, please," I say, my tone firm. "Tell her it's Ian."

"Ju-just a moment," she stammers, the screen switching to the logo of Helena Blake's legitimate business. Not even a minute later, the crime boss is on the screen.

"I gather this isn't a social call," she says dryly, concealing her surprise very well.

"Afraid not," I answer.

"I see," she says. "So what can I do for you?"

"Is that offer of legal cover still on the table?" I ask, knowing this is probably won't go completely well for me, but an attorney working for a crime syndicate is more likely to get me acquitted than some random public defender.

"I was under the impression that you fulfilled your contract with me without any issues," she counters, looking at me deviously.

"It's for something that happened prior to you contacting me," I admit, having a very good idea of where this is going.

"And why would I want to aid you in dealing with some foolishness that occurred prior to our business arrangement?" she asks.

"I would owe you. Big time," I answer.

"Indeed you would," she says. "I can arrange for my attorney to contact you via extranet."

"I'd prefer a face-to-face meeting, if possible," I say, very wary of speaking to people over an open line about this kind of thing.

"That is rather inconvenient," she answers. "A face-to-face meeting won't be available for at least a week since I have her off taking care of some business arrangements."

_Damn,_ I think. "Well, I don't want to talk about this kind of thing over an open line, so I'll have to bite the bullet, so to speak."

"Very well. We'll discuss compensation after your case is resolved," she says, looking triumphant as she knows she now has me as her employee pending my release.

Sighing in resignation, I open the door to let the medic back in and she's followed by a familiar turian officer. "Detective Vakarian," I say in greeting. "How did your case go?"

"It went well," he says, his tone pure business. "Did you contact your attorney?"

"I did, but she won't be able to get here for several days," I answer truthfully.

"I see," he says. "Well, unfortunately, we can't allow you to leave. I'm going to have to place you in custody until your counsel arrives."

"I understand," I say, turning around and placing my hands behind my back so he can cuff me.

Applying the cuffs with a practiced efficiency, Garrus walks me down to their holding cells and signs me in with the watch officer who then escorts me to my cell without a word. Once I'm uncuffed and my cell is secured, I lay down on the bunk, my mind whirling as I try to rest and focus on getting out of here without going to a full-blown prison.

_With that price on my head, I'll be a dead man if I get convicted,_ I think, closing my eyes and trying to sleep and let my body heal while I start the long wait for my counsel to arrive.

* * *

><p>AN: Credit for the idea behind Ian's ice burn goes to my friend VincentSoulshift<p> 


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Faster update this time, primarily because this and Chapter 12 were originally written as one huge chapter, but instead of throwing an 8000+ word wall o' text at you, I decided to break it into more manageable pieces. And as always, reviews are appreciated.

* * *

><p>"Keep it moving," one of the guards says as I shuffle down the line in the chow hall.<p>

_For fuck's sake, _I think as some strange-smelling goop is plopped onto my food tray. _Even the worst MREs weren't this bad._ Sighing in resignation, I pick an empty table that's away from the majority of the crowd and sit with my back against the wall so I can't be snuck up on. _The last thing I need is to be shanked because I was being a dumbass and not paying attention._

Watching everyone closely, I feel myself shifting into a hyper-aware state I haven't been in since I was in the Corps. Every tiny detail is scrutinized as I eat my food. _I know some of these motherfuckers are planning to kill me. But which ones and when will they make their move?_

Spotting a group of turians walking over to me, I shift slightly in my seat, getting ready to move if they start something. "Can I help you?" I ask, my voice low and carrying a "don't fuck with me" tone.

"You're sitting at our table," one of them says, the others starting to fan out.

"I'm going to say this only once; leave me the fuck alone unless you feel like explaining to the rest of your boys just how you ended up as a quadriplegic," Looking him square in the eye, I almost daring him to start something.

He gives me the turian equivalent of a smirk. "I'd be more polite if I were you, tough guy. It'd be a shame if the guards had to take your body to the morgue." Looking at his companions, he jerks his head towards another table and they walk away.

Eating the rest of my meal in silence, I start thinking. At first I'm planning on ways to get out from under the influence of Blake's syndicate and paying back Aria's favor without going deeper into the rabbit hole, but then I start thinking about shit I've been doing my damnedest to push out of my mind.

_It's been almost seven months since I got here,_ I think, slowing down my eating as my mood turns even darker. _Seven months and it's as if my past life never fucking existed. My family is practically extinguished, the country I bled for no longer exists as I knew it, did any of it fucking matter? Just what the fuck did I do to deserve this bullshit?_ My blood starts to boil.

"Chow's over! Back to your cells!" the lead guard says and I walk back to my cell, lost in thought as I struggle to keep in control. Sitting on my bunk as a guard closes my cell, I try to calm down; closing my eye to try to meditate. This proves to be a very bad idea since I can see everything I ever fought for fading away in my mind.

Snarling in rage, my eyes snap open as I lose it, lunging off of my bunk and lashing out at the nearest target; the hardened bulkhead across from me. Ignoring the pain shooting through my hand as my fist connects with the armored material, I throw punch after punch into the wall, not caring that my hands are breaking from the impacts. Almost immediately, the door bursts open and I'm swarmed by guards tackling me to the ground.

"Someone tranq his ass!" one of them shouts as I struggle against them, my movements more like a caged animal rather than a trained fighter. Eventually, they manage to drug me and everything fades to black.

Several hours later, I'm waking up on a hospital bed in the infirmary. _The fuck happened?_ I ask myself silently, trying to figure out why I'm not in my cell. Feeling hazy, I try to move my arms only to find that I'm in restraints. Slowly, it starts to come back to me and I remember the pure rage that had exploded from me.

_That was a good fucking idea,_ I chastise myself just as the medic who'd seen to me after the beating Harkin gave me last week. "Hey doc," I manage to say, my voice slurred from the aftereffects of the tranquilizer the guards hit me with.

"You're starting to become one of my regulars, Ian," the turian medic says as she checks the displays near my bed. "This time, I hear it was your fault."

"Yeah," I say, mentally and emotionally drained from my little episode.

"Care to talk about it?" Pulling up her omni-tool, she takes a few notes, apparently of my vital signs.

"Just a bunch of shit I'd been pushing aside and bottling up finally coming loose.". At her curious look I explain it. "You've heard about how I got here, right?"

"Yes." Turning to face me, she watches me closely.

"Well, ever since my accident, I've been focused on surviving; forcing myself to keep working and moving and not thinking about what happened. Sitting in that cell, all I can do is think and realize just how much of a relic I am," I say, my voice weary. "Everyone I knew, the nation I bled for, even the music I like are either long dead or no longer exist as I remember them. I carry weapons that are centuries out of date, all of Earth's soldiers seem to have enhancements that were considered science fiction at best, and I deal with alien species on a daily basis. Even though I felt we weren't alone in the universe, suspecting and knowing are two different things."

Sighing, I close my eyes tiredly, a couple tears flowing down my cheeks. "I've managed to improvise, adapt, and overcome many difficulties since I got here, but the more time passes, the more I feel out of place and the more I realize just how much I've lost. I see something like the nebula surrounding the Citadel and I can't help but think that my cousin would be awed by the sight. I visit another planet, and I can't help but think of my friend Hank who died in my relay accident and how much he'd have loved exploring the galaxy and speaking with asari scholars, trying to learn what he can from the stories of their lives."

"Listen to me," I say, chuckling darkly. "Here I am, what most people would consider a badass who prides himself on being able to do what needs to be done and I'm crying like a little bitch.

"You've been through a lot," she says, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Most people would have either killed themselves or gone insane by now, but from what I've heard about you, you've managed to not just survive, but thrive in a basically impossible situation. You'll continue to adapt in time."

"But the more I adapt, the more it seems like the old me is dying along with everything I cared about."

"In some ways that may be true. But what's to say you can't find a balance? Keep what you can of your past alive while you continue to move forward with your life?"

"I don't know, doc. I'm just tired right now. Whatever the guards hit me with was pretty potent stuff," Thinking about her suggestion, I realize that's what I had been doing in some ways. _Maybe when I get out, I'll make some recordings to put on the extranet or something. At the very least it'll be healthier for me than punching walls._

"I can imagine," she says, going back to the console on the wall and deactivating the restrains on the bed, apparently deciding they're not needed. "Well, I have to make my rounds. Get some rest."

"Sure thing, doc… and thanks," I say, closing my eyes to try to get some sleep. A couple minutes later, the door opens again. "You forget something, doc?" Opening my eyes, I see the turian I'd threatened in the chow hall standing in the doorway.

"Well, well. Look what we have here," he mocks, stalking over to my bed. "Looks like Mr. Tough Guy is all tied up. Not so tough now, are you?"

"The fuck you want?" I'm already getting a bad feeling about this. _Please don't let this be some shit regarding that bounty on my head,_ I think, mentally getting ready for a fight.

"Oh, I think you know. Seventy thousand creds will go a long way towards getting me out of here." Flexing his hand to show off his sharp talons, saunters over to me.

_Gotta keep him talking, try to throw off this haze. _"You don't really expect them to pay out, do you?"

"Of course, I do."

"You clearly don't know how this kind of thing works. First rule of arranging an assassination: when the job's done, kill the assassin." Feeling my adrenaline starting to displace the haze from the drugs, I continue. "Wouldn't surprise me if they arrange for you to be shanked to spare them the expense." Seeing him pause for a moment, I keep talking. "Also consider: you're in prison. They can leave you here to rot and keep the money. They are a pack of bare-faced assholes anyways."

The look on his face shifts from hesitant to sly. "Nice try. You had me going there for a moment. Time to die, human," he says smugly, taking a swipe at my neck.

_Now! _Rolling off the bed, I fall hard onto the floor, the drugs in my system slowing me down and making me much clumsier. _Get to your feet, Ian,_ I think, trying to figure out which way is up when my attacker comes around the bed, taking his time and toying with me.

"So you're the badass who can fight a krogan hand-to-hand? You don't seem like much to me," Rearing back with his foot, he drives a kick into my ribs.

Realizing I won't be able to fight in my usual way, I mentally change gears as his foot connects a second time. "You call that a kick? A hanar can hit harder than that."

Before he can kick me again, the door bursts open and several guards tackle him to the floor while the doctor helps me to my feet.

"What was that all about?" one of the guards asks as my attacker is dragged out of the room in restraints. "Was it related to that spat you had with him in the chow hall?"

"More like I have a price on my head and he tried to collect on it," I reply. At the surprised looks on their faces, I elaborate. "I kinda pissed the Blue Suns off a couple months back and they're holding a grudge."

"I see," the head guard, an older battle-scared turian says. Looking at two of his men, a pair of humans that look like they could be brothers, he continues. "When the doctor's done looking at him, take him into solitary. It'll be safer for him there."

"Yes, sir," they say, standing by the door while the doctor examines me.

"Do I want to know what you did to piss them off?" she asks, helping me to the bed and running a series of scans.

"I kinda raided one of their outposts and freed some people they were holding either for ransom or the slave trade," I answer, my voice not as slurred as it was earlier as the residual drugs in my system are being burned off by the adrenaline dump that came from nearly getting killed.

"You certainly seem to have a way with people." Ten minutes later, the exam is finished. "I don't see anything worth keeping you here for. You got lucky."

Giving her a look that says "no shit", I manage to get to my feet, letting the guards cuff me and escort me to my new cell without a word. _Took them long enough to try something,_ I think as I stretch out on the bunk after the cuffs are taken off and my cell is secured. _I've been in here a week and someone just now makes a run for the bounty?_ Yawning in exhaustion, I try to get comfortable and fall asleep in minutes.

The next morning, I'm awakened by a knock at my cell door. "McLaughlin, your attorney's here," the guard, this one a salarian, says as he motions for me to assume the position so he can put me in restraints. A couple minutes later, I'm sitting in an interview room with a well-dressed salarian.

"Something more pressing came up for the attorney originally asked to represent you so I'm taking your case," he says, reading my shocked expression. "Before we begin, I'd like to assure you that we can speak freely in here; there won't be any audio recording." Subtly shifting his right wrist, he shows me a small device that looks like some sort of transmitter, possibly a jamming device.

_Holy shit this guy talks fast, _I think. "So I take it you want to cut to the chase?"

"I already know you're being suspected of committing a murder. Did you?"

"In a manner of speaking. That punk they accused me of murdering was trying to kidnap me and take me to the Blue Suns to be executed. I contested the issue."

"But you didn't report it to C-Sec, making this much more difficult," he says in annoyance.

"Doesn't help that he was down after the first shot and my second was a coup-de-grace. Not exactly the smartest thing I've ever done."

"That's putting it mildly. Anything else you want to tell me?"

"Yeah. When I was brought in, a detective by the name of Harkin decided to get a bit animated in our interview."

"Define 'animated'."

"He basically beat the shit out of me. Joke's on him though. I was recording the incident on my omni-tool and I have it set to put backups onto a couple anonymous extranet servers in case something happens to the original recording."

"Clever thinking of you." Pausing for a moment to think, he continues. "You tell them the truth about the punk trying to kidnap you. You also admit to shooting him. The second shot was fired as he was trying to bring his gun to bear on you. You didn't report the incident because you feared that while being held, others would try to collect on the bounty. I heard about last night's incident so that can be used as an illustration of said fear. Combine that incredible security failure with that beating you took, and I can get them to forget about the charges."

Nodding silently, I stay seated as he goes to get Detective Barnes and a well-dressed asari who is likely the Citadel equivalent to a district attorney. _This could work. I just need to stick to the plan._

After everyone is seated, I remain silent while my attorney outlines our version of events, making sure to keep the focus heavily on the violence I've endured since being in custody. "Furthermore, not only did my client suffer a possibly life-threatening beating at the hands of one of your most senior officers, but not even a week later, he's nearly murdered in the infirmary by an inmate who was supposed to be secured! This is completely unacceptable, especially in light of the fact that you don't even have enough evidence to take a suspect to trial!"

Sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose as if dealing with a headache, the asari attorney looks over the datapads and watches the recording from my omni-tool of my interactions with Harkin. From the look on her face, I can read her decision before she says it. "No charges will be filed and this case will be closed. It's too botched for me to have any chance at even indicting your client, yet alone bringing him to trial." Nodding at Barnes, she takes a drink of water, looking more than a little irritated over the clusterfuck that got dropped into her lap.

"I'm glad we could get that worked out," my attorney says. "Now about this Harkin matter."

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that myself," I interject as I massage my wrists from where the cuffs had been digging into them. "I'd be well within my rights to press charges and file a lawsuit against C-Sec, am I right?"

"Yes, of course," the asari attorney says, a sick look on her face.

"If I were to go along such a route, it would entail multiple hearings in both civil and criminal courts, endless mountains of paperwork, bad publicity for C-Sec, my face being plastered on the extranet by the news feeds, and it would turn into this massive shit sandwich of unpleasantness."

"So, what's your point?"

I glance at my attorney, he looks like he wants to say something, but seems to be curious as to where I'm going with this. "Personally, I have neither the time nor inclination to go down that road. Way too much hassle." Turning to Barnes, I ask, "What's going on with Harkin right now?"

"Administrative leave pending the results of the investigation into the incident," he answers, watching me cautiously.

"How's this, then? Considering the evidence against him, how about I forget the charges and lawsuit and we settle outside of the courts? Let's say… four month suspension without pay, all monies that otherwise would have been paid to Harkin for his salary and benefits are paid to me; tax-free, of course." Pausing for a moment, I read the expressions on everyone's faces. "C-Sec saves money by not having to conduct a PR campaign, Harkin is punished, and I'm compensated for the damages I suffered at his hands."

Looking both shocked and relieved at the same time, the asari attorney says, "I don't have the authority to make that kind of deal, but I'll contact my superiors and relay your proposal to them."

"Detective, if you'd be so kind as to start the paperwork for my client's release, it would be appreciated," my attorney says, pleased that he managed to get the job done without having to represent me at trial. "Not that I don't appreciate you coming up with a way to keep me from having to represent you pro bono over a lengthy timeframe, but why are you offering them an out?" he asks, looking like he's measuring me up for some reason.

_A lawyer is measuring me up. This'll go well… _"It's an equitable trade and lets us get on with our lives," I answer.

"I see," he says, standing up. "I'll be just a moment. Ms. Blake wanted me to contact her when I had news of how this was going to go."

Breathing a sigh of relief, I realize just how fucking lucky I'd gotten. _If Harkin hadn't fallen for my game, I'd be proper-fucked right now._ _Now that the immediate problem is dealt with, I can get to work on getting out from under Helena Blake's thumb._

Several minutes later, I'm back in my street clothes and following my attorney out of the building when I literally bump into Detective Vakarian. "Sorry about that. Urgent case?"

"Yeah. We've been getting reports of a spike in black market organ trading," he says, dusting himself off. "I gotta get going. Congratulations on being a free man, McLaughlin."

"Thanks Detective. Good hunting."

Following my attorney to a waiting shuttle, I climb in and find a surprise. "I must say, I wasn't expecting you to meet me here, Ms. Blake. I'd have thought you'd have me brought to your office."

"I was out and about already," the middle-aged woman answers. "Chalon here told me about your little negotiation with that prosecutor," she continues, indicating the salarian attorney with a gesture of her hand.

"I just wanted to deal with that problem before it got too involved." Seeing the sly expression in her eyes, I start to worry. "Why do I get the impression I'm going to be more than just a bounty hunter you send after wayward employees?"

"You're perceptive. Being able to understand the stakes in a given situation and offer an equitable solution for all parties in a timely manner is a very useful skill set to have." Reaching over to a wall console, she pulls out a datapad and hands it over to me. "I've decided to expand into real-estate and construction supplies. Nothing particularly illegal, but much of it is gray market."

Reading the list of items and locations she's interested in, one name jumps out at me. "I gather this isn't going to be a temporary arrangement?" I ask dryly, having seen that she's bought my apartment complex.

"You're a potentially valuable asset. I consider this a good investment on my part. Now, then, I'll allow you a couple days' rest before I send you out on your first assignment. Oh, and don't worry about rent, utilities, or your income. They've all been arranged for."

_God damn it,_ I think, knowing that I'm not going to be able to get out of this one. The rest of the ride passes in silence and I'm dropped off at my complex. _I just fucking LOVE when the Fates decide to fuck with me…_ Pausing at the door to my apartment, I notice the lock's been disengaged. _Really?_ I think, drawing my pistol and holding it at the ready as I trip the door's mechanism while standing outside of the doorway in case I have a shotgun-wielding surprise waiting for me on the other side.

Moving slowly and methodically, I start clearing around the corner when I hear a familiar voice coming from the kitchen.

"Ian, is that you?"

"Shit, you fucking scared the shit out of me, Lare," I call out, holstering my gun, closing the door to the apartment, and locking it. _Now if my heart will cease trying to break out of my chest, I'll be good._

"Sorry about that. I tried calling but couldn't get ahold of you. Where've you been?"

"Stuck at C-Sec." Sighing wearily for what seems to be the thousandth time, I step into the kitchen and find myself confronted with a less-than-welcome surprise; her legs are clad in a disturbingly familiar yellow-and-black armor I've only seen once before, her upper body obscured by the refrigerator door as she rummages around for food. "Umm… Lare?"

"What is it?" she asks, straightening to show the rest of her body and my fears are confirmed: on her chest plate, there is a black stylized sun with an "E" in the center. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I take it this was the permanent job you called me about when I was on my way to Omega?"

"Yeah… what's wrong?"

"The last bounty head I ran down went and joined Eclipse. I wound up fucking with their operation on Omega to bring him in."

"You just love pissing off merc organizations, don't you?" she asks, shaking her head in disbelief. "How badly did you interfere with them?"

"Killed seven, wounded more. At least, those are the ones I know about. Their operation was intact when I left, though. They were just down some personnel."

"I see. Well, it shouldn't be too hard to convince them that it was only business and not put a price on your head."

"All I'd have to do is join the organization? That's going to be difficult."

"What do you mean?"

Hesitating for a moment, I explained everything that's happened since I left for Omega, leaving out the debt I owe Aria since Eclipse is actively trying to displace her and I don't need to be used as a stalking horse for them. "So now I'm pretty much indentured to one of the more powerful syndicates in Citadel space for the foreseeable future."

"Wow. Your life got fucked up in a hurry, didn't it?"

"Yeah. It definitely complicates matters between us too, what with the whole rival organization bit." _I'd ask if things could get even more fucked-up, but I'll not tempt that bastard Murphy. He's having enough fun as it is._

"That's no reason for us to give up quite yet," she says, stroking my back. "We'll just take it one day at a time and see where it leads."

"Alright," I say, yawning. "I'm heading to bed. A week on a C-Sec lockup bunk isn't what I'd call restful."

"I can imagine. Rest easy."

Heading into my bedroom, I change into a pair of shorts, make sure my pistol is within easy reach on my nightstand and almost immediately fall asleep when my head hits the pillow.


End file.
